


Wrecking Balls

by Bourneblack



Series: Wrecking Balls [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (why isn't that a tag), Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angry Steve Rogers, Begging, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers (2012), Deaf Clint Barton, Dirty Talk, Dom Tony Stark, Dom/sub Undertones, Everyone Has Issues, Exhibitionism, Hair-pulling, Humiliation, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Iron Man 3, Light BDSM, Limousine Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Modern Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Nightmares, Post-Avengers (2012), Power Dynamics, Rimming, Spanking, Sub Bucky Barnes, Subspace, Sugar Daddy Tony Stark, Team Bonding, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, a mix between matt fraction barton and mcu barton, and makes her own vodka, but it works out, in general ok he's depressed, smart bucky barnes, things are NOT what they seem ohho, where the heck is thor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-06-10 09:47:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 87,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15288864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bourneblack/pseuds/Bourneblack
Summary: “You’re probably close to finishing college, and you could desperately use any money you can get to pay back your loans. It’s probably why you do this.” Tony’s voice is low, filled with intent. He cocks his head dangerously. “Yet, when you approach the richest person in the room, you don’t ask for money, you don’t pitch your services, and you don’t try to sell me on some shit idea that you want funded. Instead, you decide to play the role of karma by fucking over your douchebag of a date.” Tony smooths one of his hands down Bucky’s chest.  "Why’s that Bucky? Just want the satisfaction of doing the right thing?”“What do you really want, Barnes?” His words are loaded like a gun with potential.“What I want, Mr. Stark, is for you towreck me.”ORBucky Barnes is trying to make enough money as an escort to take care of his sister after she loses an arm in the war, and Tony just wants to feel a semblance of control after aliens try to attack New York. They happen to find each other and strike up a mutually beneficial arrangement (sugar, sugar), but is their chance meeting really just coincidence?Updates Weekends!





	1. I Came In Like A

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This is my first posting, and since all I read is smut, figures this is what it would be too.
> 
> This a story that gets into BDSM! This also runs along the Iron Man 3 timeline, though the bulk of the beginning is spent establishing Tony's and Bucky's relationship. I have the whole story outlined and basically written, but I really would appreciate any and all feedback as this is my first story :)
> 
> Minor warnings for this chapter: This turns into a bit of a D/s situation where kinks are not negotiated and safe words aren't discussed until partway through the sex, which technically makes this dub-con. But, both characters are adults that know what they are doing, and make the decision to follow through. In real life, don't get super involved in D/s with one night stands unless you are fully prepared for what that entails!
> 
> Updates once a week, on the weekends! Usually at the end of the weekend.
> 
> Please, enjoy!

He adjusts the collar on his suit, looking to the photographers on the staircase outside with a practiced smile, before retaking the arm of his john for the night, “The Next Big Thing in Tech” Austin Robertson. The tall yet weaselly redhead wasn’t old like most of Bucky’s other clients, but was just as grabby, and was disgustingly heavy handed with the cologne. He was also looking to sell his extremely successful startup to the highest bidder, hence why they were here at the “Next in Tech” black tie networking event, where tech giants compete with each other to snap up the latest and greatest in new talent.

They stop so a few news reporters can shove microphones in Robertson’s face, and Robertson laughs a throaty high pitch laugh before saying, “One at a time, one at a time! How about you with the pretty face, what do you have for me doll?”

Bucky’s pretty sure he hates this guy, and it’s only been an hour since Robertson sent him the tux and picked him up in the ostentatious white limousine. But he makes the big bucks by faking it, so he smiles and gazes at Robertson like the sun shines from his ass crack as the reporter jumps in with her question.

Robertson is truly a smart guy, he has to admit. He did some research on him before he left his apartment, his algorithm for storage compression is almost too good to be true; no one has gotten at all close to replicating his results, and Bucky’s sure half the companies here were drooling over themselves to get a taste of this guy. Stark seems to have laid a pretty strong claim on him already though, if Robertson’s endless bragging is anything to go by. Either way, Bucky’s pretty sure it’s going to be an easy thousand or so dollars for the few hours, plus he’s hoping he can get Robertson to let him keep the tux.

An hour and a half later finds Bucky leaning over the bar desperately flagging down the bartender for whiskey, neat, and make it a double please. As it turned out, Robertson was a disgusting human being. For starters, he leers at every woman that passes by like he was trying to prove something, yet hooks his arm into Bucky’s in some parody of dominance when another man so much as glances his way. He’s got clear issues with his homosexuality that Bucky is not getting paid enough to deal with.

What’s worse, is he definitely implied that Pepper Potts only got her job by banging Tony Stark, which isn’t a good thing to think in general, but is really not a good thing to say when Tony Stark is actually _here_ , and is a downright terrible idea to say when the guy is trying to buy your company.

But what really set him over the edge? When Robertson snickers with another very much white male over the fact one companies that sent him an offer was led by an African American, except they very much did not use the words “African American” when referring to him.

Bucky nearly lost his shit at that one, asking through gritted teeth if he wanted Austin to grab him something from the bar. Austin peeled him off a hundred before turning back to white male #2, and Bucky hopes he keeps him busy for a while

The bartender comes back with his scotch, and Bucky’s debating on just shooting it when suddenly he notices he’s leaning directly next to the one and only Tony Stark himself.

Bucky’s breath catches a bit as he trails his eyes down Tony’s body, taking in the relaxed yet powerful stance, the lightly striped suit without a single crease, the glass of whiskey in his right hand and the holographic keyboard he’s typing in on his left. Bucky watches as he takes a sip without so much as pausing his typing on the keyboard.

Bucky lets himself wonder what it would be like to taste, just for a second.

He adjusts himself discreetly in his pants, and is searching for something to break the ice when he suddenly hatches a brilliant plan. He probably won’t get his money from Robertson tonight but maybe he can get something else…

He shoots the whiskey, placing it down on the bar, and smooths his hair once over with his hand. Then, turning, he says,

“Pardon me, Mr. Stark, do you have a moment?” Bucky puts on his best polite bullshit smile.

“Finally built up your courage kid? You get, say, half a moment to prove to me you’re worth my time.” He hasn’t even looked up from his keyboard, still typing impressively fast into a floating screen.

Bucky continues, unperturbed. “You should reconsider your relationship with Austin Robertson, the man with—”

“The one with the kickass compression algorithm that can triple the amount of already existing space on any computer, which is useful for virtually every industry and is on track to make its first billion? It better be a damn good reason, and you have, at most, an eighth of a moment left with me before your yesterday’s lunch.”

“Because he’s a sexist, and a racist, and he referred to your CEO as a whore.” Bucky blurts.

Tony’s eyes snapped up, typing paused.

Bucky continues, “And I’m hoping you are the kinda guy that cares about that kinda stuff. If not,” he cocks his head, “enjoy your money.” Bucky goes to turn back to the bar but is stopped by a hand on his sleeve. He looks into Tony’s very interested eyes.

“I’m listening. See look, I even stopped typing.”

Bucky internally celebrates.

“I’m Austin’s… date for the evening.” Bucky starts.

“Yeah, like how Mr. Lee over there has a Miss Universe runner-up on each arm?”

Bucky grins unapologetically. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean Mr. Stark.” Tony snorts.

“He’s been nothing but rude to most anyone here,” Bucky continues, “and he can get away with it because everyone is tripping themselves for that algorithm. He can’t stop making comments about women behind their back, and in front of their face calls them all ‘doll,’ and ‘sweetheart.’”

“What did he say about my CEO?” Tony demands impatiently.

“Word for word, he said ‘I can’t imagine how well she had to bend over backwards to go from PA to CEO in a night.’”

Tony actually _growled_ after that, and fuck, Bucky was officially turned on.

“Lastly, he referred to an African American gentleman by a word I won’t deign to repeat, one that was interested in buying his algorithm, I might add.” Bucky shifts. “Mr. Stark if I may,” Bucky leans a bit closer, “I feel if he believes the deal with you is so much of a guarantee, that he can flaunt it in front of everyone else’s face.”

“We haven’t even drawn up a contract yet.”

“Exactly Mr. Stark. So if you were to allow himself to further isolate himself from investors…”

“Then rip the rug right out from underneath him, I could wreck his entire life, yes, brilliant.” Tony hums and begins thinking, and Bucky smiles to himself at a job well done. Though, he thinks with a pang, he wishes he was able to get paid first…

“What’s in it for you? What do you want from all this?” Tony asks suspiciously.

 _My thousand dollars_. “How ‘bouta drink?” Bucky waves his empty glass.

“‘ _A drink’_ , he says, wow, ok. Do you know who I am? I mean of course you do but I can get you anything you wanted, I’m _Tony Stark_ , which, once again, you already know, but you really _don’t_ know if all you want from me is one measly little drink.”

Bucky’s expression was all innocence as his eyes dropped to Tony’s lips, then trailed down to his neck. Feeling bold, he lazily traces one of the lines on his suit down further and further, until he’s lingering on the space between Tony’s legs.

 “Well…” he sucks in a slow breath, before snapping his eyes back up to Tony’s now-amused expression, “how ‘bout like, a really, _really_ , expensive drink?” Bucky drops his most winning smile, winks.

There’s a pregnant pause, light chatter layered over a smooth acoustic bassline easily filling the silence. Tony finishes the last sip of his drink, then turns to the bar. “Katie?” Bucky blinks as a bartender basically appears from thin air. “Two glasses of the most expensive scotch you’ve got, if you please. Give one to my new friend…” He looks at Bucky expectantly.

“Bucky. Bucky Barnes.”

 

 

               

Apparently, the most expensive scotch they had is pretty fucking expensive scotch. When he sips, it goes down incredibly smoothly, and the warmth makes its way straight to his core.

Tony had excused himself a while ago, likely to inform his CEO of his plan to fuck Austin over. The music was upbeat and low, he was drinking a fine ass drink, and he was actually enjoying himself for the first time that night until—

“Babe, _there you are_ ,” Robertson stumbles into Bucky’s space. Bucky only barely remembers to smile at him. Robertson’s drunk, and his arm wraps around his waist, hand coming down to take a firm squeeze of his ass.

“Austin, _baby_ , you’re so drunk!” Bucky teases. He attempts to surreptitiously remove his hand, but Austin just squeezes harder in response, before turning in for a kiss. Bucky presses his lips chastely against Austin, but of course Austin immediately tries to deepen the kiss, his tongue probing for entrance. Bucky nearly gags.

Bucky pushes him off his face none too gently. This was not in the contract, and excess touching is not okay. “Sweetheart, not here okay?” It was a warning. Back the fuck up.

“Mmm, babe, I’m gonna fuck you so hard when we get home.” Austin leers. Bucky suppresses a shudder. Part of the rules were to let all of Austin’s friends they had a thing going on.

“I look forward to it sweetheart.” He winks, removing himself from Austin’s grasp.

“Yes,” Austin gives him another kiss. “Where’s my drink babe? You have that hundred I gave you?”

 _Yes and he’s keeping it._ “You’ve been busy babe, I didn’t want to disturb you and your friends…” Bucky smiles softly at the two men behind Austin. They were both trying not to stare at Bucky and were failing spectacularly.

“We wouldn’t mind James, you can disturb us anytime” Austin smiles back, wrapping an arm around Bucky’s shoulder. “In fact, it’s kinda a celebration, since Stark’s decided he want to speak to us before we leave. Which means we definitely got the deal! Isn’t that awesome?

“Soo… for the sake of celebration…” Bucky does not like the sound of Austin’s voice, or the way he’s leaning in close, the smell of alcohol and cologne mixing into to some horrible otherworldly third thing that promises a bad time. “Figured we could all go back to my penthouse after and relax a bit… have a good time, yeah?” Austin strokes his hand up and down Bucky’s arm, eyes flitting between the two now leering men and Bucky, eyebrows raising suggestively.

The guys had surrounded Bucky in, but Bucky was hardly intimidated. He takes another slow sip of his whiskey. “I don’t think so.” He can barely keep his tone steady. He’s had about enough of this lowlife.

“Babe, I know you like it, you’re such a slut when we’re together, I figured you wouldn’t mind a few more…” Bucky turns to Austin with a plastic smile.

“Can I talk to you in private sweetheart?” Austin two friends make a hardly subtle suggestive noise, which Bucky steadfastly ignores. He pulls Austin through the chattering crowd, politely excusing himself as he rushes to an empty corner of the atrium.

Bucky turns on Austin instantly, Austin’s cocky glare making him even angrier. “None of this is in the contract.” He starts coolly. “No sex, no group sex, you can’t even do more than kiss me for longer than a second. All of this stops now.”

“You’re kidding. Right? I’m not talking about the escort shit, nah babe you’re standing next to the next protégé of Tony Stark.” Bucky’s anger melts away, remembering his discussion with Stark earlier. He’s trying hard not to grin. “And when I become a billionaire off my kickass idea, you’re going to be begging to be on your knees for me.” Austin gloats.

“You know Robertson,” Bucky pretend to think, “I guess it’s just a risk I’mma hafta take.”

“Hey, speak _proper_ English please, I don’t want people to think I attract the uneducated.” Austin looks around widely as if the bourgeoise were spying on him through the walls. He sniffs. “Just think about it James. After Stark announces this buyout, you’re going to want a piece of this.” Austin holds his hands out and points down to his own body. Bucky’s not quite sure what he’s supposed to be looking at.

“Maybe sweetheart, just maybe. Now let’s get back to the party yes?” Bucky holds out his arm and Austin takes it possessively.

 

 

               

The night drags on. Bucky meets more people Austin talks shit about, and any remaining guilt he has about his upcoming betrayal is quickly washed away. Tony is nowhere in sight unfortunately, but he does manage to make brief yet meaningful eye contact with the brilliant and intimidating Ms. Pepper Potts. She’s immaculately adorned in a tapered black gown with an impressively high slit, finishing in a gorgeous classic Louboutin heel. She gives him an inch of a smile, and Bucky tilts his glass imperceptibly before she turn back to her conversation. Bucky feels like he’s in a heist.

It’s gotten easier to slip Austin’s grasp. He’s making his way to the bar again, wishing he hadn’t finished his expensive as fuck scotch so quickly when his phone dings.

_“Meet me on the balcony – T”_

He abruptly turns towards the side doors before he could even think about doing otherwise, pressing them open and stepping outside into the brisk winter air. The sounds of chatter and music are replaced with the sounds of New York, and he spots Tony standing at the balcony’s edge, his impressive silhouette leaning against the railing. He was alone. “Mr. Stark…” Bucky trails off, not sure what to say.

“Pepper likes you.” Tony says, not turning to face Bucky.

“She’s an impressive woman,” Bucky responds, and Tony nods like Bucky had passed a test.

Tony turns. He’s still working on his glass of whisky from earlier. He tilts it towards him. “You enjoy?”

Bucky steps forward confidentially, keeping his stance casual. “Probably the most expensive thing I’ve ever had in my mouth, Mr. Stark.” Second most expensive, if things go well.

Tony smirks, like he was thinking the same thing. Bucky can’t resist looking him over. Everything about him is so pristine, so sharply cut, from the shape of his suit to the lines of his goatee, not even a hint of a five o’clock shadow.

Bucky wants to break that perfect composure.

Tony moves forward, eyes challenging. Bucky tries his hardest not to waver, but the closer Tony comes, the more he feels the weight of his gaze on him. He breathes in a whiff of Tony’s cologne and fights the shiver the racks his body.

Tony gets even closer, and now Bucky can feel the heat of his body, their chests centimeters apart. Tony’s smaller build and shorter stature do nothing to make him seem less in control. Bucky looks into Tony’s eyes and sucks in a sharp breath when he reads the unadulterated, naked lust reflecting back. Bucky swallows hard.

“You’re probably close to finishing college, and you could desperately use any money you can get to pay back your loans. It’s probably why you do this.” Tony’s voice is low, filled with intent. He cocks his head dangerously. “Yet, when you approach the richest person in the room, you don’t ask for money, you don’t pitch your services, and you don’t try to sell me on some shit idea that you want funded like everyone else here. Instead, you decide to play the role of karma by fucking over your douchebag of a date, even if that meant you were going to lose out on your payment for the night.” Tony smooths one his hands down Bucky’s chest. “You’ve essentially saved me from making a very costly business decision, and all you ask for, from me, is a drink. Not even an expensive one either, had to goad you into that. Why’s that Bucky? Just want the satisfaction of doing the right thing?”

He knows why. He saw the look Bucky gave him earlier. He just want to hear him say it.

“What do you really want, Barnes?” His words are loaded like a gun with potential.

“What I want, Mr. Stark, is for you to _wreck me._ ”

               

               

 

Things move pretty quickly after that.

Bucky doesn’t think about Austin, or the gala, or how it looks for Tony Stark to be leaving with a man a little over half his age. All he can think about is getting his hands on Tony. They slip into Tony’s limousine, and as soon as the door shuts, Tony presses his lips against Bucky’s hard, pushing him into the short seat in the back of the limo. Tony kisses with intent, urgent but not out of control. Bucky fights to hold his own, returning each kiss head on, refusing to make this easy.

“Taking the long way boss?” A voice calls from the front as the car pulls off the road. Tony pulls back with a growl, and Bucky grins back, panting slightly. He’s plunged headfirst into a fantasy of Tony fucking him through the seats of limo as they drive around the city, people outside none the wiser, then Tony dropping them back off at the Gala, rumpled and sweaty and satisfied, everyone knowing what just went on…

The fantasy shatters when Tony says, “straight to the tower Hap.”

“Not a fan of fucking in the back of your limos?” Bucky kinda knows the answer to that already.

Tony leans in to Bucky, running kisses down his jaw to his neck. “For the quickies yeah,” he murmurs into his neck.

“I’m—ah, I’m not a quickie then huh?” Bucky pants as Tony nips at his neck. Bucky runs his hands up Tony’s chest, undoing the buttons to his jacket.

Instead of responding, Tony pulls back and flips their positions “Take off your jacket. Get on your knees.” Tony says, settling himself into the back of the limo.

Buck acts instantly, placing his jacket on the seat to the left. He drops from his low crouch to his knees in front of Tony, and feeling daring, says coyly, “Yes, Mr. Stark.”

Tony chuckles darkly at that one. He spreads his legs, stretches his arms out across the backs of the seats. Bucky looks up at Tony’s eyes, falling back to sit on his heels, the lights from outside casting his face in various shades of reds and blues as the car rolls through the New York City night.

Bucky keeps his eyes on Tony’s, wanting to get as much of a read on the man as he can as he tries to take him apart. He slides his hands up the inside of Tony’s thighs nice and slow, stopping just a few inches shy of his groin, before sliding back down. He continues this a couple more times, moving closer and closer, enjoying the way Tony’s eyes darken with each stroke.

Tony grunts impatiently and Bucky smiles sweetly, before finally, finally pressing his hand to Tony’s cock. It was half hard and quickly on its way up, Bucky notices happily. Bucky pushes firmly, running his right hand up and down the shaft through the fabric of the pants, the left going downwards towards the general area of his balls, pushing up gently.

He palms Tony’s cock, enjoying the older man’s exhale, before pushing himself up off his heels and taking care to undo the buttons one by one. He inches down the zipper until Tony’s underwear is exposed, covering up an imposing bulge. Bucky leans over and presses his lips to the tip. Bucky could tell Tony was not a patient man, nevertheless, Bucky decides to take his time mouthing up and down along the length of Tony’s cock, working it up to full hardness. He closes more of his mouth around the fabric, the underwear starting to become damp from Bucky’s saliva. He obscenely licks his tongue against the cotton, straight up the length of Tony’s cock.

Tony grips the seats slightly tighter underneath his outstretched hands, and Bucky considers that a success. Bucky decides to relieve him a bit, reaching up to grab Tony’s waistband and push it downwards at the same time Tony lifts his hips, revealing Tony’s cock, very long and heavy with an upward curve, lightly pink, uncut. Bucky’s mouth is watering because, ok, yes, he is actually as much of a slut as Austin says. Bucky takes Tony in his hand, rubbing his hand up and down the shaft slowly, careful not to catch the skin as it was still dry.

The hit a bump and then there is light streaming in from the windows; Bucky guesses they were in a garage. He uses the sudden light to quickly check Tony out for bumps or sores or discoloration because it doesn’t hurt to be cautious. Satisfied, he finally, _finally_ leans over Tony’s cock, pressing his lips against the covered head, letting saliva wet his way as he kisses down the shaft reverently, savoring Tony’s flavor as he makes his way back up to the tip. Bucky pulls the skin back from the head and sucks it in his mouth, and Tony makes a noise like he’s been punched.

He works his tongue around the head as he sucks, tongue coming out to flick quickly at the skin where the head meets the shaft, bottom hand working the rest of his cock up and down slowly. He’s careful, licking deliberately around the head at that skin until Tony makes a small noise, squeezing his eyes together. Bucky smiles around his mouthful before returning to work, the time working his tongue purely on the spot that made Tony moan, while picking up the pace of his hand and sucking the head with a firm but gentle pressure.

“Fuck…” Tony bites out, eyes squeezing shut, his legs spreading wider, he hands grabbing at the leather seats as Bucky continues relentlessly, trying to make the head as sensitive as possible. When Bucky reaches his left hand up to cradle Tony’s balls, Tony growls again and pulls Bucky off his cock, and Bucky falls back on his heels. He only has a moment before Tony grabs his hair and pulls it back none to gently, and Bucky lets out a moan through gritted teeth. Tony leans over Bucky, so that Bucky was staring straight up at Tony and Tony straight down at Bucky, before Tony plunders Bucky’s mouth, pushing his tongue inside, trying to take as much of Bucky as he could possibly could.

Bucky couldn’t give much back from Tony’s death grip on his hair, which was probably the point, but didn’t stop Bucky from trying, arching up into the kisses, sucking eagerly on his tongue. Tony pulls back, and Bucky pants, lips red and bitten, very much aware of the pressure of Tony’s grip on his hair.

Tony releases, then pulls his pants back up, not even attempting to button them again. He raps his knuckles on the door and it opens immediately, and he steps out in the garage.

Bucky takes a moment to comb his hair back with his fingers, but doesn’t bother hiding his rumpled state as he follows him out into the garage. Bucky grins. “Thought you were suppose’ ta be wrecking me Mr. Stark?” he winked.

Tony gives him a _you’re are really in for it_ look, before saying, “thanks Happy, have a good night,” and heading towards the elevator against the wall.

“You too boss!” A voice chirps from behind Bucky, and Bucky spares a glance at Tony’s driver, who definitely knew everything that was going on in the back seat, _and_ had totally heard Bucky’s inappropriate challenge. Bucky’s glad he doesn’t have any more shame left.

Bucky strides confidently to the elevator, joining Tony, as it starts heading to the penthouse of what Bucky assumes to be Stark Tower. He doesn’t have much time to enjoy the view before Tony pounces again, pushing him against the glass wall of the elevator and trying to press his tongue down Bucky’s throat. Bucky fights back with the kiss as hard as he can, until Tony presses their bodies together as well, pushing his knee between Bucky’s legs, and wraps a hand in Bucky’s hair and _pulls._

Bucky breaks the kiss with a shocked moan, knees shaking as he grinds up against Tony greedily.  “Mr.—Mr. Stark…” he pants out, moaning gaining in pitch and volume as Tony digs both his hand and knee in harder, grinding and pulling and now biting at Bucky’s neck. Bucky reaches out to try to rectify the balance, but Tony manages to flip him in some type of Avenger move and he’s facing the wall, arms locked in Tony’s hands behind his back, pants fogging up the glass of the elevator. They both freeze for a moment, the only sound the woosh of the elevator climbing at breakneck speeds to the penthouse.

His releases his grip. “Bucky.” He says, he tone very, very serious.

Bucky turns instantly to face him.

“If I go too far… if I’m going too far… you just say red, ok? Let’s keep it simple, use the classic, red, yellow, green safe word system.” Tony starts. “I should have done this like, 20 minutes ago but then I started pulling your hair and slamming you against things and yeah, ok, it’s not sexy but it’s necessary so. Do you understand?”

Bucky’s floored for a moment, at the sudden scene change, and the unexpected but definitely not unwelcome speech. “I understand. Green for good, yellow for slow down, red for stop.”

“Good.” Tony finishes, and its silent, and Bucky _refuses_ to let this get awkward, not after all this work he did.

 “And besides, Mr. Stark.” He starts creeping towards him, pulling free his tie with sure movements. “I like it when you pull my hair.” He takes another step, starts working on the buttons on his shirt. “I really like it when you… take what you want…” he licks his lips, and Tony’s eyes watch the movement with no small amount of interest. “And I know I’m what you want Mr. Stark…” he looks at Tony and drops his shirt to the floor. “So _please_ Mr. Stark,” he pauses a beat, just for the drama. “Take me.” He looks at Tony, challenging.

Tony didn’t need to be told twice as he slams Bucky back into the elevator wall, grinding his knee back up into his erection, quickly returning Bucky to full mast. Tony kisses him possessively, running his hands up and down Bucky’s chest like he’s looking for the best place to stake his claim. He drags his hands downwards and undoes Bucky’s pants, and Bucky kicks out of them. Tony palms Bucky through his briefs, and Bucky can’t stop the whimper arising from his throat at the brief contact. He thrusts up into Tony’s grip, but Tony pulls back with a smirk.

“Let’s not get greedy now. JARVIS?” The elevator, which apparently had stopped a while ago, opened its doors. Tony motions for Bucky to follow him. Bucky steps into a modern yet opulent penthouse, a fire burning in a fireplace straight ahead, TV hanging above it, and soft music playing from speakers above. Glass windows make up one whole wall on the left, with a door in that wall leading out to a balcony large enough to hold a helicopter. To the right there were several rooms, one that he presumes is Tony’s. To his more immediate right, there was a bar. Tony led Bucky to the plush carpet in front of the TV, and Tony sits down on the couch in front of him.

“Strip.” He says, and Bucky swallows in excitement at his dark expression before dropping his underwear to the ground and exposing himself shamelessly, cock standing straight and tall away from his body. Bucky resists the urge to wrap a hand around himself and show off for Tony’s stare, which was drinking in the lines of Bucky’s body as the fire cast shadows against the divots of his muscles.

Tony pushes down his underwear again and takes out his cock, and Bucky’s eyes immediately zero in on it. He takes a step forward out of anticipation.

“Stop.” Tony says, almost bored. He spreads his legs a little wider, letting Bucky have a nice view of his cock. Bucky takes a step back, confused.

“You wanted me to…what’s that? Oh, yes, _wreck_ you. So, I started thinking.” The pace Tony had on his cock didn’t abate. “How to wreck you? Well there’s an easy answer, fuck you straight through the mattress. You’d like that?”

Bucky nods. “Yes Mr. Stark, I really want you to…”

“How about if I shoved my cock down your throat so long you have no choice but to swallow, and you gag and spit all over yourself while I use your mouth as a place to dump my cum?” Tony interrupts, showing no sign of the fact he was aroused other than the steady pace of his hand on his cock.

Bucky nods faster. “Fuck yes, please, Mr. Stark, I—.”

“I bet you would’ve let me fuck you over that balcony too. Pulled your pants down and fucked you raw while you hung off the railing, people below looking up see you jerking back and forth, moaning like a whore on my cock, everyone behind us being able to see you being completely and utterly owned by me.”

“Oh fuck, Mr. Stark I, yes…” Bucky stutters out, wondering if Tony had picked up on his exhibitionism kink.

“Touch yourself. And don’t you fucking cum either.”

Bucky’s hands find his cock a beat later, nearly gasping as he takes himself in his own hand, matching Tony’s speed stroke for stroke.

“You really think you deserve my cock?”

Bucky nods eagerly.

“Answer me.” Tony snaps.

“Yes Mr. Stark,” Bucky rushes out.

“You know what I think Bucky? You’re a slut. A rampant, dirty, desperate little slut. Stop stroking yourself and get on your goddamn knees.”

Bucky shudders and drops to his knees on the thankfully very soft rug.

“You want to suck my cock?” He straightens up, leans over, and says,

 _“Beg me_.”

Bucky feels ready to burst, in more ways than one. “Please Mr. Stark. Please let me suck your cock. I just want to make you feel good sir, I’ll do anything you ask, Mr. Stark, _anything,_ just please let me—”

“Like what?”

“I’ll—I’ll,” Bucky’s gotta make this good. “I’ll give you the best blow job of your life Mr. Stark. You can cum down my throat or on my face or in my hair, wherever you want.” Tony’s eyes burn into his skull, his expression unmoving.

“I promise I’ll be good for you in the future too, wherever and whenever you want Mr. Stark, under your desk at work or even in the bathroom, in the backseat of your limo. You can call me in the middle of class, tell me to meet you in your car, fuck my throat and make me go back in covered in your cum.” Bucky makes his tone as sultry as possible, but Tony’s expression doesn’t change at that either.

Bucky closes his eyes, swallows, goes deeper. “I’ll choke and gag on your cock until—until tears come to my eyes. I’ll be your good little cock slut, taking every inch of you until I’m filled up, and even then, I’ll beg for more. Only for you Mr. Stark. I want your cum, so _badly_ , I’m just a desperate little slut that needs you to fuck my throat and, and—and, I need it, please, I need you Mr. Stark, please, _please_ …” Bucky’s nearly lost himself at the end, he’s shocked at how desperately he’s begging. He looks to Tony hopefully, but his expression was still infuriatingly neutral. Bucky was about to continue when Tony says,

“Crawl _.”_

Bucky shudders because holy _shit_.

He drops his hands to the carpet, his cock jutting out almost painfully, completely parallel to his body. He begins to move, eyes first going to Tony’s face the to his cock, which was big and magnificent and everything he’d ever dreamed of.

Bucky reaches the couch, begins to reach eagerly for his prize, but Tony shakes his head, stands up instead.

“No hands. Put them on my legs but don’t move them. Tap twice, you understand?”

Bucky can’t suppress the shudder that runs through his body at that, the implication that Tony going to choke him on his cock making Bucky want to cum right then and there.

Tony’s hand stops moving on his cock. He looks down at Bucky, whispers, “Color?”

“Green,” Bucky breathes back. He places his hands on Tony’s legs, trusting him to stop when he says so.

Tony positions his cock at Bucky’s lips, pressing in slowly but firmly. Bucky immediately begins to suck, actually moaning out in relief at finally having Tony’s heavy cock on his tongue again.

Tony laughs. “You really are a cock slut aren’t you? Willing to debase yourself just to get a taste of me, huh?” Bucky tries to nod around his mouthful. “I knew you’d be good when I saw those lips, just begging for my dick to stretch them wide. And that ass too, don’t worry, it’ll get its fair share of use as well.” Bucky moans, closes his eyes. “You’re a kinky fucker too aren’t you? Like it to hurt a little, just enough to be fun, like when I pull your hair like _this_.” He grabs and handful of Bucky’s hair and pulls him off, before using it to guide his face back to his cock. Bucky keens loudly and his cock jumps, trying to push forward.

Tony lets go of his hair. “Stay still.” He all but growls, and Bucky stops instantly.

Tony wraps both of his hand in Bucky’s hair and begins to thrust shallowly, not going down his throat, but pushing down far enough that every inward thrust cut his breaths short. Now, Bucky had fought his gag reflex down with several men and a trusty dildo a long, long time ago, but tears still spring to his eyes. Tony wipes at them with his thumb with a look of twisted fascination, before pushing his cock as far down as it could go, until Bucky’s nose was pressed against Tony’s skin.

Tony holds him there for a moment before pulling him off. He gets a half a breath before Tony slams home again, and again, and again, until Bucky has tears streaming down his face.

Tony pushes deep down his throat again and just stays there. He’s looking down at Bucky with an expression of curiosity, which irritates Bucky and also makes him impossibly harder. The next word Tony says are said with a bit a challenge, a bit of almost hesitation, as if he was unsure that Bucky could handle it.

“Choke yourself on it.”

Bucky instantly swallows around the thick weight in his throat and starts gagging on command, his throat attempting to ingest something much, much bigger than it’s meant to.

Under his breath, Tony breathes out, “ _holy shit…,”_ and Bucky fills with pride.

Tony’s cock decides to make a new home in Bucky’s throat. He fucks Bucky’s face with long, smooth strokes, and Bucky takes it like he was made for it, rubbing his tongue up against the head when just the tip was between his parted lips, to swallowing greedily around the full length when his face was pressed up against Tony’s pelvis. When Tony finally pulls away, Bucky finds that tears are streaming freely down his face, mixing with a mess of saliva and precum that painted his red, swollen lips.

Bucky shudders with lust at the picture they must make. Tony dressed in his expensive suit and tie, not a line out of place, pants unbuttoned and pushed down only enough to reveal his thick red cock. Meanwhile Bucky is on his knees, ass fucking naked in front of him, begging for him to fuck his mouth.

“Turn around and get on your fucking hands and knees.” Tony’s chest is heaving.

Bucky obeys instantly, and can’t help but arch his back for Tony, making the curve of his ass obscene. Tony takes the bait and presses his hand down on Bucky’s ass, before lifting a hand and laying down a gentle smack, grabbing with the other.

“Is that all you’ve got Mr. Stark?” His voice is rough and used, but still teasing.

Bucky’s right ass cheek explodes in pain as Tony brings his hand down much, much harder. Bucky yelps and jolts forward, babbling out, “green, oh, fuck yes, green,” so Tony wouldn’t think to stop.

Tony has the nerve to laugh, the bastard, then his hands leave Bucky’s ass for a moment. Bucky hears the pop of a cap, and Bucky shivers as he dribbles some lube down his ass crack. A curious finger follow the line of lube as slides down to his hole, before slowly and firmly pushing in.

Bucky moans at the contact, he was so hard and so ready to be taken, and Tony seemed to be in a similar state of mind. He pushes in and Bucky pushes back eagerly, and Tony adds another and crooks them towards his prostate.

The moan that escapes Bucky is almost an octave higher, and he unconsciously spreads his legs as he tries to get more of that delicious pressure. Tony pushes relentlessly, adding a third finger along the way, and at some point, Bucky’s head drops to the carpet.

After a particularly vicious prod at his prostate, Bucky gasps out, “please… Mr.—Mr. Stark…”

“You really should learn to use your words better. Please what?” Tony continues to prod his prostate, making responses incredibly difficult.

“P-please, Mr. Sta-, ah, Mr. Stark, oh God please, fuck me, Mr. Sta-“, he chokes out, losing the rest of his words in a moan.

“What if I didn’t want to?” Tony begins, and what is he playing at? “What if I decided to finger you all night long, jacking my cock and watching your squirm and beg? What if I made you lie flat on the ground, grind against the rug—it’s so soft don’t you love it—until you came all over yourself? What if I got bored of that and pushed you back on your knees, forced you to take my cock until I come, and then only let you get off by rubbing against my pant leg? What would you do, Bucky Barnes?”

Bucky’s about to come apart at the seams, nearly dizzy from all the fantasies in his head.

“I would do whatever you wanted,” he says, turning his head to the left to speak through the rug. “I won’t come until you say so, no matter what. Above all, I’m here to be used…so use me Mr. Stark, however you want.”

Tony growls in satisfaction and removes his fingers. Bucky feels the blunt pressure of something much larger pressing at his hole. Tony leans over Bucky, pressing his torso into the carpet, before pressing hard into Bucky’s body, searing a sweet, hot, satisfying path into his ass.

They both moan when they are fully seated, and Tony begins the thrust, _hard_. Their hips begin slapping together wetly, the pace only getting faster and more frenzied as Bucky gasps and cries out into the carpet, Tony grunting behind him.

“You see yourself?” Tony grinds out, not faltering for a second. It takes Bucky a moment to catch his meaning, but when he looks to the left he can see their movements in the reflection of the glass. Bucky chokes out a curse as he looks at himself in the window. He was a complete mess, ass presented, face pressed into the rug, Tony more or less mounting him from behind.

Bucky watches in the reflection as Tony raises a hand and smacks his ass hard, and he sobs at the pleasure of the pain. Tony continues to spank his cheeks as he fucks, alternating sides, all while keeping up a steady stream of profanity and half-finished promises of what Tony was going to do to him. Each slap jerks Bucky into the carpet, and is punctuated with a whine, or a “please,” or in the moments when the hits are more vicious, another sob of pleasure.

Tony suddenly grabs Buck’s hair, forcing him to put his hands underneath him. The pain of the pulling and the sting of the previous spankings mixed gloriously with the new angle of Tony fucking directly into his prostate, and Buck was rapidly coming apart, body jerking back and forth from the strength of Tony’s thrusts.

“You need to come, Bucky?” Tony pants, as he reaches underneath Bucky to grasp his cock. Bucky gives a hoarse cry at the unexpected touch, thrusting eagerly into Tony’s hand as he chased his orgasm.

“Fuck! I’m—” is all the warning Tony gets before Bucky is spurting heavily into the carpet below, body spasming hard and tightening brutally around Tony’s cock. Tony swears before his thrusts begin to falter in their rhythm, and then Tony’s slamming into Bucky deep as he cums in his condom with a long moan, finally collapsing on Bucky.

They just lay there a moment, soft music punctuated by heavy breathing, fire crackling in the background. Bucky’s hips give way as he slides himself to the now ruined rug, boneless and exhausted from the rough treatment.

To Bucky’s surprise, Tony starts laying gentle kisses down his spine, just a few, before murmuring quietly, “So good for me.”  Something else releases in Bucky after that, and his tense muscles sag even further into the softness of the rug. Tony says it to him one more time before laying a final kiss on his neck and removing himself gently. Bucky’s back is cold when he leaves, and he fights the urge to curl up on himself.

He’s doesn’t realize Tony has walked away until he’s back again, rubbing a warm wet cloth up and down his back and thighs. He makes a move to roll Buck over before continuing to his chest and throat and oh so delicately at his cock.

“Sit up for me Buck.” Tony murmurs softly, a sharp contrast to the disinterested and downright brutal tone from earlier. He follows his instructions slowly, muscles feeling like noodles, and is rewarded with a soft blanket being draped around his shoulders, and a drink being placed into his hands. He sips and is surprised to find…

“It’s orange juice. Vitamin C, ya know?” Tony yawns. He’s fastened his pants, and is leaning over Bucky as he drank the juice embarrassingly fast. Tony chuckles, warmly this time. “Let’s get to bed.”

Bucky is shocked enough to let Tony help him up and walk him to one of the doors on the side of the room, leading him into a simple but spacious bedroom, done up in a theme of luxurious reds. Tony mutters something and the music shuts off. It’s suddenly so, so quiet.

Tony leads him off to the bathroom connected on the left. “Gotta extra toothbrush and paste, more for my sake than yours cuz of what you had in your mouth, which, great job by the way, never seen someone take it like that all the way to the hilt and back, I mean I’m not huge but I’m certainly not small…” Bucky feels himself smile at Tony’s words and tries to reach for the toothbrush and brush his teeth without losing the blanket. He doesn’t realize Tony’s left again til he comes back with a fresh pair of sweats and a t-shirt, and Bucky drops the blanket and dresses himself. He manages to wash up before Tony walks him back to the bedroom.

Tony doesn’t leave his side for more than a few seconds as he makes his way to the main room to grab his phone and wallet and keys, deciding to leave the piece of the suit strewn around the penthouse where they were. He curls up into a ball in the bed and watches as Tony strips to his boxers and heads to the bathroom. Bucky’s dozing lightly when he returns, and Tony folds himself around Bucky possessively, pressing his lips once to Bucky’s neck before drifting off as well.


	2. Bottomless Brunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “…pants feel just marvelous against my cock…”
> 
> Bucky freezes as he realizes; his cock twitches out another drop.
> 
> He looks up to see Tony sporting the smuggest of smiles.
> 
> He swallows hard and takes a deep breath before he asks,
> 
> “Mr. Stark, will you please let me rub off on your leg?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys I'm back! I am overwhelmed by your guys' reaction! Your comments are lovely and have eased some of the anxiety I have with posting this stuff. Honestly, I've been so afraid about getting into writing for so long that when I posted my first chapter, seeing your comments kinda made me tear up. The fact that people are enjoying this really makes me want to write more. Thank you for your support!
> 
> I had mapped out a story, and have started sneaking some plot in with the porn, but no worries, there will be plenty of smut, because it's really all I have time to think about, lol. The idea for this scene I could not get out of my head no matter how hard I tried. So sorry, there is more limo sex.
> 
> Apparently, the average chapter of a book is 3-5k words. Mine are averaging around 8k, so I hope that's alright. That's why these take a week to get out.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> Minor Warnings: Bucky drinks a bit before they have sex, but not nearly to a point that would prevent him from consenting. Also, kink negotiation is done quite quickly.

Bucky wakes up under the softest, silkiest sheets he’s ever felt in his life. He stretches out his legs, letting the silk slide across his stiff muscles and outright moans. He’s rolling in bliss, like someone who had just been fucked into next week.

Which he had, so.

He opens his eyes. He’s alone in Tony Stark’s bedroom, which, wow, Tony _Stark,_ Jesus. That’s the fucking big leagues. He pats himself on the back.

He rolls over with a sigh. While he enjoyed every last second of last night, he probably let it go a tad too far. If it wasn’t for Tony’s surprisingly attentive aftercare, however brief, he may have had a much worse morning. Usually, he was up and out after a heavily charged one-night stand like this, shaking off jitters and steadfastly ignoring his own dark thoughts, but here and now, all he wants to do is curl into a ball and burrow under the heavy comforter and smile like a fool.

He doesn’t though, because despite everything, he’s still had a one-night stand with the king of one-night stands. He’s not shocked that Tony was gone when he woke, and hopes he can at least get cash for an uber before he leaves.

 _Speaking of cash_. He turns to the nightstand and grabs his phone, and winces when he sees the preview of nearly 20 texts from Austin, growing more and more agitated as the night went on. It doesn’t seem like Tony’s dropped the ball on him yet; most of the texts were noncreative insults and threats against Bucky’s manhood. He wonders what Tony’s planning.

Bucky stands and stretches and toes the soft carpet, trying desperately to memorize everything he can about Tony’s bedroom, before stepping into the penthouse to find his clothes and shoes.

The first thing he notices when he enters is that the news is playing on the TV, and, hilariously, the rug from last night has disappeared. The second thing he notices is that his suit has been dry cleaned and draped over the back of the couch, his shoes shined and polished, placed perfectly parallel underneath. The third thing he notices is Tony Stark, dressed in a full suit, is eating a bowl of Lucky Charms at the bar.

 _Well_.

“They say all that sugar’s not good for you.” Bucky comments, making his way over to the seat next to Tony.

“You want some?” Tony says, without looking up. “There’s milk in the fridge, and bowls, uh, somewhere.” He waves his hand vaguely in the space between the bar and the wall. “The rug’s being cleaned, I know a guy who’s really good at getting out stains, though honestly? That thing’s probably a lost cause. You made quite a mess.” Tony looks at Bucky then, quirking his eyebrow in amusement.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had a night quite like _that_.” Bucky’s gleaming with post-coital satisfaction. “Thanks to you, Mr. Stark.” He winks.

Tony scrapes the last marshmallow from his bowl, and Bucky watches Tony’s Adam’s apple as he swallows. He eyes Bucky. “How’d you like to go again?” Tony says, voice level.

 _Fuck_ to the _yes._ Bucky turns so that their knees are touching, and rests one of his hands on Tony’s knee, sliding slowly up his thick thigh. “I might be interested.”

Tony grins, but places his hand on top of Bucky’s, stilling it but not removing it. “I admire your ambition, but not quite right now. I have a proposition for you.”

“A proposition?” Bucky settles for massaging small circles into Tony’s thigh with his thumb, finding strong, tight muscle below his hand.

“Mhm, yes, that.” Tony says. Bucky thinks he hears distraction in Tony’s voice, yet, his hand stays infuriately still.

“I want you to be exclusively with me. And in return I’ll pay you. How’s that sound?”

Bucky’s thumb stops moving.

“You don’t have to answer now.” Tony slides his hand back and pours another bowl of cereal. “You have my number, Happy will give you a ride home, and you can think about it. If you’re in, send me a text, if you’re not then don’t. Nice and simple. Oh, and eat this cereal, please. _And_ ,” Tony stands, and Bucky slides his hand off Tony’s thigh gracefully, still processing. He grabs the suit off the back of the couch.

“Consider this a ‘sorry for the money you lost last night’ combined with a ‘thank you for the tip on Robertson’ sprinkled with ‘this is what life with me would be like.’” He hands the suit to Bucky and sits back down. “I’m a good multitasker.”

Bucky looks down and his breath catches when he realizes that this was not his suit from last night, but a more impressive and _much_ more expensive Armani, in a similar cut. “Mr. Stark, this is—"

“A marvelous suit I know, I _know._ I picked it out myself, and I got the size from your other one. If you choose to come back, I’ll have my tailor have it fitted. And I refuse to let you say no.” Tony quickly adds, when he notices Bucky trying to get a word in edgewise. “Not for this. This isn’t an obligation, this is an after-the-fact kinda thing.”

Bucky carefully stretches the suit across the bar behind him. “Mr. Stark—”

“We’re probably on first name basis at this point, kid.” Tony makes a face. “I really shouldn’t be calling you kid. Wait, how old are you? Actually don’t answer that, if I knew I would probably feel even more like a creepy sugar daddy. Which I’m not. Creepy, that is. Just, you know, a sugar daddy. I really don’t do this.” Bucky relaxes a tad.

Tony seems to realize of the source of Bucky’s discomfort. “Look. Last night was actually a really fun night, and I don’t usually bring people here. I like your style, in and outside of sex, and Pepper likes you, and that is _very_ rare because my choice in one-night stands, back when I used to do them more, is remarkably terrible. We could have a lot of fun together Buck, plus, I’ve been meaning to try this Turkish place that just opened up around the corner. Think about it.” Tony says again. “Also, _eat_.”

It’s silent for a moment. A woman on TV is trying to get them to call a lawyer for their loved one’s Mesothelioma.

Bucky thinks about it. He thinks about his pride, and mentally snorts. He thinks about the money he has in the bank, his credit score, how his student loan is going to run out early this year. He also thinks of Becca. And then he thinks about last night, and selfishly, that’s what does it.

“Yeah, Ok.” Bucky decides.

“Great, like I said, send me a text when you decide.”

“No, I mean, yes. Let’s do it. The, agreement, I suppose it’s called.” Bucky’s not sure what else to call it. “But there’s a couple things.”

“Ah-ah. I refuse to hear a word you say until you _eat your food_.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Yes Daddy,” he says, and laughs when Tony shudders in revulsion.

“That is a hard no from me, thank you.” Tony nudges the bowl again, and Bucky sighs and eats a spoonful. The first thing he realizes is that he’s starving, and a little light headed from low blood sugar. The second is that the leftover milk in the bowl is already very sweet, which makes the cereal much better. And the third? The third is that Tony Stark is really, really good at getting what he wants.

“While I do need a supplemental income,” Bucky starts after a few bites, “it’s really only for living comfortably instead of just surviving,” he lies. “I don’t want you to write me a check once a week, because it’s easy to get away with that once or twice, harder for the long term,” _because most of the time what he does is technically illegal,_ “and I don’t want to feel like I’m being paid to be part of this. I’d rather it be more like…” A relationship? A friendship? A couple of guys that don’t mind each other having mutually beneficial sex?

“How about this then.” Tony says, watching like a hawk as Bucky takes another bite. “A relationship. An _exclusive_ relationship. Where I take you out on dates and dinners, and buy you gifts and groceries, and you hang off my arm for the cameras and come back to my bed.” Bucky starts to see where this is heading. “If I just happen to be a man that gets a lot of pleasure from buying my sexy young boyfriend whatever the fuck he wants, then so be it.”

“You really think I’m sexy?” Bucky bites his lip and blinks at Tony from under his lashes.

“What I’m really thinking is that I want to bend you over this counter and spank you ‘til you cry, but none of that is going to happen until we draft a contract and you finish your cereal.”

Bucky’s cock thrums to life at Tony’s casually spoken words, but then the rest of the sentence catches up to him.

“Contract?” Bucky’s not signing shit without a lawyer.

“If we keep fucking like we did last night we are going to sign a contract, so I don’t push you too hard and get sued.” Tony says. He gestures at the bowl on the table. “The milk too, drink it. Calcium.”

Bucky sighs and lifts the bowl, tilting it towards his mouth. Tony looks pleased.

“Anyways, I’m going to email you some shit to look over. For now, I have to leave you, but we’ll meet tomorrow to hash the rest of this out.” Tony stands up.

Bucky wipes his mouth and stands up as well. Tony gives him a quick and dirty once over. Bucky preens under his gaze, and Tony’s eyes sharpen.

“I have plans for you.” Tony’s says abruptly, voice teetering on the edge of arousal.

 “I’ll be looking forward to them.” Bucky responds with a wink.

“I’m going to push you. Test your limits.” Tony warns, stepping closer. Bucky’s taller than him, and still feel like he’s being stared down.

“I’m going to push right back, Mr. Stark.” Bucky dares, grinning unrepentantly.

Tony smirks; a complex, dark thing that spreads slowly across his face. “Oh, I expect nothing less.” Tony’s hand reaches up, deliberately placing it on Bucky’s cheek, stroking the light growth of stubble he finds there. “You’ve really ruined ‘Mr. Stark’ for me, you know that? Don’t know how I’m going to keep a straight face in my meetings.”

“I’d be happy to provide a distraction during your meetings Mr. Stark.” Bucky turns his head and kisses Tony’s palm, looking at him with his most sultry eyes. “Keep me under the table for when you get bored…”

Tony leans in and presses his lips against Bucky’s, leading him through a long, thorough kiss that left Bucky panting when he pulls back. Tony’s voice is frustratingly controlled when he says, “My limo driver is waiting in the garage, the elevator will take you there directly. Text me when you get home. I’ll email you the paperwork.”

Bucky knows a dismissal when he hears one, and takes a moment to regain his composure before getting his things together and heading to the elevator. He puts on his best ‘just fucked’ swagger, walking to the elevator like he’s wearing the height of fashion, not a T-shirt, joggers, and formal dress shoes. Bucky steps in the elevator and turns, giving an amused Tony a wink before the doors shut and he was whisked downwards.

 

 

 

A year and a half ago, Bucky Barnes took out credit card he couldn’t afford to pay off, to fly to DC to find his sister. He had eventually come across her sitting on the steps of the VA, staring, haunted, at the sky, clutching her discharge papers in one hand. He moved her in a tiny apartment outside the city and cooked her food and did her laundry and made her take her medication, and ignored her stubborn denial that she was fine Bucky, please go home.

 

 

She finally lost it trying to wash the dishes one night, the remains of her left arm straining forward over and over, trying to reach for the next plate, or cup, or bowl, with a hand that wasn’t there.

 

 

“Well,” Bucky said, kneeling down next to her huddled form, surrounded in broken porcelain and glass. “You never did like to do the dishes, did you?”

 

 

She punched his shoulder and started to cry, and he hugged her tightly, rocking her against his chest. He picked up the broken pieces, one by one.

 

 

When Bucky finally flew back to New York, guilt at leaving his only family jobless and alone making itself comfortable on his chest, credit card maxing out on the sandwich he bought to tide him over on the plane ride, he put out his first escort ad.

 

 

 

33 pages through a 129 page paper, Bucky receives an email. The email address is a random string of numbers, at a domain name he’s never heard of. There’s no subject line, and the body contains nothing but a link, so long that it takes up four whole lines of text.

Bucky deletes it, seconds before he receives a text from Tony reading, “ _Sent. It looks like spam, so don’t delete it.”_

Whoops.

“ _Have the stuff on hand for tomorrow.”_ The text continues. “ _Brunch tomorrow, 11 AM? I’ll pick you up.”_

Bucky texts back a “see you then!” before digging through his recently deleted and clicking the link, which connects him to an encrypted file sharing service with two wildly different documents waiting for him. The first is pages upon pages of legalese entitled “Non-Disclosure Agreement,” all 12 pt. font and full paragraphs of bolded, capital letters. He closes that for now, shooting a text to Sarah, a pre-law friend on campus that he occasionally tutors in calculus.

The second is a two page chart entitled “Kink Checklist” in pink, looping letters, with subheadings like “Impact and Pain” and “Power Exchange.” It is a pretty straight forward chart: The name of a kink, followed by a 0-3 scale that goes from “Hard Limit” to “Hell Yes!” After that, there’s a column asking about level of experience, as well as a space at the bottom for him to explain anything else he wanted his partner to know.

Admiring Tony’s thoroughness and font choice, he gets to work. He’s always considered himself pretty kinky, and isn’t shocked that he is filling up most of the sheet with 2’s and 3’s.

He waivers a bit at the kinks under “Impact and Pain.” It’s hard to find someone to trust with things like paddling and caning in his line of work, and it’s just too dangerous to find someone from a hookup. Ideally, he would love to bend over for a Dom like that, submitting fully and totally, but that would require giving someone the tools to leave actual, lasting damage on his body and trust that they wouldn’t. He would also need to trust that they would guide him back down properly.

He leaves many of these as 1’s. _Soft Limits._

He puts a 1 next to playing with others and a 3 next to being watched by others because he might be an attention whore, but he’s picky.

He’s almost embarrassed at the number of 3’s he puts under the “Power Exchange” section, and accidentally manages to get himself hard thinking about him and Tony doing all the things on the list. When he gets to the “commands/instruction” kink, he thinks about Tony telling him to strip completely naked and display himself, telling him to beg just for the privilege to suck his long, delicious cock, Tony making him _crawl_ , naked across the carpet, Tony’s awed voice when he realizes Bucky just made himself choke on his cock because he asked…

Five and a half minutes later, after he washes the cum off his hand, Bucky marks that a 4.

His phone dings. Sarah wants him to drop by sometime today, but assures Bucky that NDA’s are pretty typical, and she’d be able to find anything hanky in the wording.

Bucky shoots back a “you’re the best,” and sends both documents to the printer, grabbing them and locking them in the safe in his closet.

Bucky removes Tony’s clothes, a soft t-shirt and joggers that run about $150 (Bucky checked on the not-awkward limo ride home) and gently folds them on his bed. He’s been full of energy since this morning and needs to burn it off if he wants to have half a chance focusing on his research later this afternoon. He gets changed, laces up and locks up, and sets off on a run towards the gym.

 

 

 

Several hours later and he’s standing in the doorway of Sarah’s dorm room, about to walk back to his apartment. The NDA got an A-Okay, and she is very, _very_ curious about who’s he’s seeing that is so high profile, but Bucky winks and tells her, hopefully, she’ll know soon enough.

She gives him a quick smack on the ass on his way out, but stops him in the hallway. Her tone is serious when she speaks, and Bucky finds himself paying close attention.

“Don’t do anything you don’t want to do, and make sure you keep some of your old life with you.” She warns. “These rich people are eccentric and weird, and one day they are going to drop you, so you need to have a backup plan, ok?”

Bucky, touched at her concern, lets his expression go soft. “I won’t, I promise.”

 

 

 

Bucky is still running gel through his hair when Tony pulls up the next day. He steps outside and shivers at the cold, and takes a deep breath when he spots the limo. His driver is standing outside in dark sunglasses, ready to open the door. Bucky nods a hello and he says nothing back, just opening the door for Bucky to slide in next to Tony. They start moving.

Tony is impeccable, hair styled pristinely, facial hair immaculate. He’s wearing a cool gray suit and heavy coat jacket, and gives Bucky a once over as he steps in.

“Mr. Stark,” Bucky says pleasantly.

“Tony, for now.” He winks, and Bucky’s nervousness starts ebbing away. “Here, have a mimosa.”

Bucky takes it gratefully; fights not to drain it in one go. He finally asks the question that had been bugging him all yesterday.

“Tony, I wanna ask,” he begins, “what ever happened with Austin?”

Tony grins, taking a sip before spreading his arms wide across the seats. “We plan to meet on Monday, where he assumes he’s signing a contract. Gonna rip him a new asshole. Pepper sends her thanks, by the way.” Tony tilts his glass.

Bucky nods resolutely. “It’s nothing. He deserves every piece of what’s about to happen to him.”

Tony hums thoughtfully. “Do you have the NDA?”

Bucky nods, pulling the papers from his pocket and placing them on the seat between them. “I had my lawyer look it over,” he says, admired at the strength of his own bullshit.

“Hopefully, just the NDA.” Tony says. He turns it towards himself, checks all the pages are there, and nods, signing, before tucking it away.

“She probably couldn’t handle the other one.” Bucky says, swallowing. “Not everyone can.”

“I’m not everyone,” Tony responds simply. “I’ll have a copy sent to your lawyer.” Tony squints at him. “You’re… over 18, right?”

 “I thought you said not to ask,” Bucky says smartly, taking a long sip, enjoying the way the bubbles rolled over his tongue.

“I’ve been told it’s easier on everyone the less laws I break.” Tony shrugs.

Laws, to someone as rich as Tony, are little more than suggestions, Bucky thinks. “I’m over 21,” he offers, “but I don’t know if I’m flattered you think I look like a kid.”

“When you get to where I’m at, you’re all kids,” Tony mutters. He turn to Bucky with sharp eyes, and things get serious.

“I am Iron Man.” He says. “I’m also Tony Stark. I have a lot of enemies. _A lot._ If at any time you feel that you are in danger, feel that someone is following you, or someone starts asking weird, intrusive questions, trying to get information from you, inform me right away. This,” he places a white piece of plastic the size of a credit card on the seat next to him, “will get you in contact with me immediately. If you ever feel unsafe, do not hesitate to use it. I’d rather have a false alarm then have something happen to you. You understand?”

He feels like Tony might be trying to scare him off, but it’s not his first rodeo. Bucky’s a professional. “I understand.” He states with a confidence he pretends he feels, tucking the card into his pocket.

“This is going to go public. It’s going to affect your personal life. People will know more about you then you want them too.” Tony warns.

 _There’s not a lot of things to know._ “I understand that too.”

There’s a beat of silence, before, to Bucky’s surprise, Tony breaks composure and rubs a hand across his face. He sighs. “I’m selfish for doing this.” His voice sounds tired. “I shouldn’t even be asking for this in the first place, but, well, there’s some needs I can’t ignore.” Bucky has a feeling he’s not just talking about sex. “And every time I try and fix something, I just…” Tony trails off, looking off somewhere above Bucky’s head.

“Tony…” Bucky says uncertainly, trying to find something to say. They are both saved by the stopping of the car.

The door opens, and they step out, walking quickly through the cold into the doors of a restaurant. It’s done up in lovely oranges and reds, with dim, warm lighting, and what Bucky assumes to be Turkish music playing lightly in the background over the gentle warm chatter of people enjoying Sunday brunch.

The host’s eyes widen comically when he spots Tony, who was currently reaching for Bucky’s jacket, handing it and his own to a woman by the coat rack. Bucky doesn’t even pretend he’s not showing off, dressed in a navy blue dress shirt that shows off his eyes, and the tightest pants he owns. He may not have many things, but the things he has are nice. Bucky winks when Tony’s eyes make their way back to his face, and Tony snorts, turning to the host, currently holding two menus and motioning to them without a word.

Tony’s hand is at the small of his back as they walk through the restaurant to a hallway in the back, where thick red curtains cover the entryway to several private rooms. Bucky blinks when the host leads them through a curtain in the back, where an intimate table for two had been set up. They sit down and are both poured a glass of champagne, before the host slips away.

Bucky sips, taking in the patterned shawls and photographs. He reaches for a conversation piece, but his comment dies in his throat when he spots the look Tony was giving him. He frowns at Bucky. “What is this, a business deal? Come over here. Slide your chair over, come on.”

 _It kinda is,_ but he doesn’t say anything, instead moving his chair to Tony’s side. He’s close enough to him to smell his cologne, and Tony turns towards him and kisses him, slow and promising. Bucky slides a hand across Tony’s chest, melting into him, not realizing how much he missed the feeling of his lips.

Several waiters arrive, and they separate slowly, Bucky slightly stunned and Tony grinning cockily, no trace of the earlier indecision on his face, no matter how hard Bucky looked.

They serve them several sauces and spreads, as well several plates of rich meats and a bowl full of pita bread, and it’s some of the best food he’s had in his life.

At one point Tony holds out piece of pita dipped in a white yogurt to Bucky’s mouth. Bucky lets Tony feed him, watches as the corners of his eyes crinkle with Bucky lights up at the taste. It’s terribly romantic, but Tony’s not the first person to like softcore shit, and Bucky allows himself to enjoy it.

When the table is cleared, and Bucky is slightly red from champagne, the checklists come out. They spread them both out on the table, Bucky smoothing over the folds, so it lies flat. Bucky notices is that Tony has a lot of 2’s and 3’s as well. He can see Tony looking at Bucky’s sheet, but his face betrays nothing about what he finds there.

“I’ll make mine the master copy. Lowest number wins. No blindfolding?” Tony says.

“I need to be able to see.” Bucky says simply, and Tony crosses out his 3 and writes a 0, just like that.

“Good. No playing with others.” Tony slings an arm around Bucky’s waist and tightens in, and Bucky pushes over until they touching up the side. “But you want to be watched.” Tony notes. Tony had put that down as a 1, Bucky a 3.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He keeps it a 1.

Bucky swallows. “Rimming?” He asks, because that is one of his favorites. Tony put a 1.

“You would have to be _squeaky_ clean, I’m talking inside and out. Hairless, too, or I’m not putting my mouth on you,” Tony warns. Bucky nods, keeps that in mind.

“Not into impact play?” Tony asks, curious. Bucky shakes his head.

“With the bigger, heavier stuff, first there has to be trust.” Bucky says resolutely. Tony nods, changing several of his 3’s to 1’s in the “Impact and Pain” columns. “I hope you can trust me with those, one day,” Tony says, and Bucky kisses him again.

When they come up for air, Bucky’s hard, reacting to Tony’s skilled tongue in his mouth. Bucky slides a hand up Tony’s pant leg, surprised at how smooth and soft it is. When he comments on this, Tony chuckles darkly.

“Nice right? Custom made, with silk embedded into the fibers. They look like standard dress pants, but are as soft as my sheets.” Bucky nods, and licks his lips when he notices that Tony’s hardening as well, his cock outlined in detail.

In _great_ detail.

“Think you’re going to get lucky?” Bucky says, pretending like he’s not already melted into malleable putty from Tony’s kisses.

Tony smile is deceptive in the warm light. “Doesn’t matter if I do or don’t,” he says. “These pants feel just marvelous against my cock, why should I waste my time with underwear?”

“Pleasure, for the sake of pleasure,” Bucky murmurs, running the tip of his finger lightly against Tony’s cockhead. He twitches and gasps, and Bucky voices is filled with triumph when he says, “we should really be getting back to the papers, yeah?”

Tony gives him a warning look that Bucky mostly ignores.

“You know, the scale is from 0-3, right?” Tony says, when he comes across Bucky’s 4 next to “command/instruction.”

Bucky shrugs. “I’m an overachiever.”

“Or you’re just bad at following directions.”

“I guess I need to be properly incentivized.” Bucky’s eyes trail downward, eyeing Tony’s cock, straining beautifully against his pants.

Tony drops his pen and turns towards Bucky. “You really that much of a slut, Barnes?” Bucky shivers at the way Tony says his last name. “I bet you would get down on your knees, right under this table, and suck my cock right now if I asked you too.”

Bucky bites back a moan, responding instead by pressing hard against Tony’s cock, enjoying his hiss as the silk fabric slides over the extremely sensitive skin. “Only if you make me beg for it first.” Bucky says lowly.

Tony growls. “I bet you’d just keep going when those waiters came back too, you little attention whore.”

Bucky strokes Tony’s cock through the thin fabric, his own straining against his zipper. “I’d do it in front of the _whole restaurant._ I want everyone to know who I belong too.” He ends with a whisper.

Tony slams his lips against Bucky’s, the force enough to push his chair backwards. He grinds the heel of his palm against Bucky’s cock harshly, and Bucky gasps into Tony’s mouth, pleasure and pain doing a dance in his head. Tony plunders his mouth greedily with his tongue, before pulling back slightly. His lips whisper against his skin.

“Who do you belong to?” Tony breathes. His eyes were afire.

“You, Mr. Stark.” Bucky gasps back.

Tony moans like a dying man and claims Bucky mouth again, but pulls back with a curse. “ _Christ._ We still have too. Ok. _”_ Tony wipes his mouth; he looks like he is seriously considering fucking Bucky over the table. “Rapid fire round. Ready? Safeword?”

“Pineapple.”

“Traffic light system?”

“Green, yellow, red.”

“Tap any part of my body twice when you need to stop but can’t speak.”

“Got it.”

“Condoms.” It’s not a question.

“Always.”

“How do you like your aftercare?”

Bucky freezes. Bites his lip, turns away.

Tony takes a hand and presses against his cheek, gently guiding his face forward, and Bucky lets himself lean into it.

“Praise me.” He murmurs, face beet red. Tony presses a kiss to his lips.

“And you?” Bucky says, and Tony blinks in surprise.

He thinks for a moment. “Let me praise you.”

Tony presses his lips to Bucky’s, long and slow, and Bucky fights to ignore the fluttering in his stomach. The kiss is gentle, and it’s languid, and it’s nothing that Bucky can handle right now.

 Bucky’s hand finds Tony’s cock and presses down.

“Fuck, alright,” Tony gasps, “we’re done here, grab your shit.”

Bucky grins victoriously.

 

 

 

Tony more or less drags Bucky from the restaurant, dropping a fat stack of cash on the table. They escape back to his limo, somehow already waiting for them at the front of the restaurant. Bucky barely notices as a few cameras flash, this is probably going to be in a gossip mag or two, before they shove themselves inside, and Tony wastes no time claiming Bucky’s mouth as the car drives off, pressing Bucky against the seat back.

“On your knees,” Tony commands, and Bucky falls down gracefully, keeping himself steady as the car makes its way through New York traffic. They are positioned in a way that reminds Bucky of the night they first met, and Bucky shivers in anticipation.

Tony unbuttons his pants, and his cock springs out without preamble.

“Get me off.”

Bucky doesn’t need to be told twice. He leans forward, and grabs hold of Tony, moaning greedily as he fills his mouth. He slides as much as he can into his mouth without choking, closes down his throat, and begins bouncing his head, the vacuum of his mouth causing the suction to increase exponentially whenever he reached the tip. Expertly, he makes sure no air escapes, and runs his tongue up and down the thick vein that runs the bottom of Tony’s cock, using his right hand to delicately roll Tony’s balls.

Tony curses, running his hand through Bucky’s hair, messing up the way the curls fell delicately to the side. He scratches lightly at Bucky’s scalp as Bucky sucks, and Bucky enjoys the way the tingles go straight to his cock.

After a moment, he releases his mouth but keeps contact with his tongue, running down Tony’s length to the skin of his balls, smoothly switching the position of his hand and his mouth. He flips his hand so that his pinky faces upwards and pulls Tony’s foreskin up and down over his head, while he gently sucks one his balls in his mouth.

“Fuck yes…” Tony breathes, enjoying the way Bucky’s palm manipulates the head of his cock. Bucky releases one of Tony’s balls with an obscene noise and works the other, running his tongue over and around the wrinkled skin, pulling back ever so slightly with his chin.

“Get your _fucking_ mouth on my cock.” Tony’s voice cracks in the silence of the car as he pulls Bucky’s head up with his hand. Bucky follows eagerly, this time using his hand to keep Tony’s foreskin down as he teases his tongue at the sensitive head. Tony makes a frustrated, impatient noise and slaps Bucky’s hand away, before suddenly shoving upwards, causing Bucky to choke in surprise. Tony’s hand finds Bucky’s, which was wrapped around his thigh, and taps twice. Bucky nods in understanding, before Tony presses smoothly down his throat, as if he owned it.

He fucks up into Bucky’s throat quickly and earnestly, and Bucky can feel the tension in Tony’s thighs as slick, wet noises, fall from his mouth.

“I’m going to paint your fucking face,” Tony all but growls. Bucky can’t find way to respond _fuck yeah you are,_ so he lets out a moan instead, which comes across stuttered due to Tony cutting off his breath with every thrust. Bucky can see the orgasm building in Tony’s expression through his teary eyes, and it’s not long before Tony pulls out and starts pulling roughly at his cock.

Bucky opens his mouth and closes his eyes. With a strangled noise, Tony does what he promised, not even bothering to aim for Bucky’s mouth, cumming in stripes on his cheeks and forehead, even up to his hair.

When Bucky opens his eyes, Tony’s got a look of satisfaction on his face. He’s leaning back in the seat, his posture is relaxed, arms crossed behind his head. Bucky looks at him questioningly.

“What?” Tony says, like he’s confused as to why Bucky was still there. The car had stopped, and they were sitting outside his apartment. Bucky can’t help but look down at himself, straining against his pants.

“The fuck you want me to do about that?” Tony says, and Bucky remembers that Tony marked “begging” a 3.

Bucky licks his lips, his voice hoarse when he asks, “Will you please make me cum?”

Tony laughs, like’s that the most outlandish idea he’d ever hear. “Why the hell should I?” Tony cocks his head, expectantly.

He looks up at Tony innocently, face red, eyes wide under his lashes. “I was a good boy, I did everything you asked.” Bucky says. “I need it, _please_ , Mr. Stark.” He bites his lip.

“You _need_ it, huh? Isn’t it up to me to decide what you need? Or are you really, truly, that desperate to get off?” Tony sits up and leans, towering over Bucky. “You get _that_ turned on from having a cock in your mouth? I bet that’s what you think about when you’re alone, bet you try and choke yourself on your fingers because you need it so bad. Am I right? The mere _thought_ of getting stuffed full of cock enough to get you going?” Tony says.

“Only yours, Mr. Stark,” Bucky breathes, remembering the 1 Tony put next to group play, the 3 next to collars. Tony’s eyes darken at that.

Tony stops to think. “You can cum, but there’s one condition.” Tony says. Bucky leans forward eagerly, cock pulsing out another drop of precum. “You can’t use your hands.”

Bucky swallows; he can work with that. He looks around the car for some sort of pleasant friction. The floors were carpet, much too rough, the leather seats maybe, but there wouldn’t be room, not with how much space Tony’s legs were—

“ _…pants feel just marvelous against my cock…”_

Bucky freezes as he realizes; his cock twitches out another drop.

He looks up to see Tony sporting the smuggest of smiles.

He swallows hard and takes a deep breath before he asks,

“Mr. Stark, will you please let me rub off on your leg?”

Tony pretends that he’s considering it, like this wasn’t his plan all _fucking long_. Only his eyes betray his excitement when he says, “I suppose, since you asked so nicely.” He shifts forward in the seat and pushes out his right leg, bending it at an obtuse angle.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

He opens up his pants, letting his wet cock spring out, taking care not to touch. He kisses lightly on the inside of Tony’s knee, before reaching with shaking hands for the bottom of Tony’s pant leg, and creating a hole for himself at the bottom.

He carefully positions his cock at the entrance to the hole created by Tony’s pants and his ankle, before sliding it, slowly, upwards up against the skin. Using his left hand, he bunches up the loose fabric so that it pulls against his cock, close enough to his cock that the fabric won’t bunch up when he thrusts. It creates a nice sleeve for him to rut into.

He looks up and his breath catches at the intensity of Tony’s gaze. Bucky doesn’t break that eye contact when he mounts Tony’s leg, wrapping his right arm around Tony’s knee.

Deliberately, he presses forward. Tony’s breath hitches.

Objectively, the feeling of skin and soft hair on one side of his cock, contrasting with the deliciously soft silk of Tony’s pants was not an unpleasant dichotomy. His cock is just wet enough to smooth the way, and fabric is actually quite soft and elastic. He works up a nice pace, letting out small, barely there noises with each thrust.

Subjectively, his mind is racing. Tony Stark, a man who had just fucked his throat raw, who repeatedly referred to him as a slut, who thought it hilarious when Bucky asked if he could cum, was letting him, _allowing_ him _,_ to rut against his leg like a fucking _dog._

He whimpers, tucking his head down against Tony’s knee.

“No. You look at me.” Tony commands, and his eyes snap up to meet Tony’s heavy gaze, shuddering at what he finds there.

Bucky thrusts faster, pulling harder on the fabric in his left hand to tighten the sleeve around his cock. Tony had _planned_ this, from the second he pointed out the brunch place yesterday morning, to going commando in his pants and goading Bucky into commenting on it, to not letting them get off in the restaurant, where he could find many other soft fabrics to use.

And, oh, oh _God._ His cock was rapidly becoming more and more sensitive, and he reaches up to adjust his hold on Tony’s leg as his cock rubs up and down Tony’s calf. He couldn’t control the frantic, high pitch noises that started spilling from his throat.

“ _Please…”_ he shakes out, and Tony bites off a curse. He’s not sure what he’s begging for, but when Tony reaches down and scratches a hand through his hair, Bucky starts rapidly breaking apart.

Here he was Tony’s cum drying on his face, crusting into his hair, _again_ on his knees in a limo. Here he was, with Tony’s hand petting him, looking at him like he was nothing more than a mild curiosity. Here he was after he had begged for release and this, this is all Tony offered, and, and, _fuck,_ and he didn’t even question it, didn’t protest, fuck, he’d actually _thanked_ him, and then latched on and started grinding, against Tony’s _pant leg,_ like he was… was…

He had never felt more humiliated in his _life_.

Bucky cums so hard he collapses, crying out and shooting onto Tony’s leg, head listing to the side and catching on Tony’s other knee.

Tony inhales sharply the moment he feels Bucky’s cum, like he was surprised by it, surprised Bucky had actually finished from just this. He reaches down slowly, gently rolling up his pants to get a good look at the streaks of cum on his leg that hadn’t absorbed into the fabric. His eyes return to Bucky’s, and, shit, Tony has the same look on his face he had Friday, the one that said he was afraid he was about to go too far, but was going to try something anyway. Tony’s breathes were coming in pants, and his voice is completely shot when he says,

“ _Lick it up_.”

Bucky’s whole body shakes.

He lifts his head slowly, and carefully leans down, pressing his hands to the floor. He opens his mouth, sticks out his tongue, and, staring right back at Tony, he licks a long stripe on Tony’s calf, his own flavor bursting against his tongue.

“ _Fuck.”_ Tony says, like it was punched out of him, and to Bucky’s horror, tears began to collect at the corner of his own eyes. He continues licking, breaking eye contact to make sure he got every last drop, before he turns back at Tony, who looked like he’d been shot.

Bucky hugs himself against Tony’s leg, and Tony leans down, running a hand through Bucky’s hair.

“So good for me,” Tony whispers, and Bucky chokes down a sob, wrecked in a way he didn’t quite understand.

He shushes Bucky gently, pulling him up and between his legs until he collapses into Tony’s chest with his knees still on the ground, Tony rubbing one hand in his hair and another on his back. Bucky nuzzles into Tony’s neck.

“So good baby, so good.” He says again, and Bucky presses his face harder into Tony’s shoulder.

“Lean back for me,” he says, and Bucky obeys. Tony has a hot towel warmer in the back of his limo, because _of course he does,_ and grabs a rolled up towel, shaking it out before gently dabbing at Bucky’s face, wiping him clean. He does so to Bucky’s cock as well, before tucking him back in and zipping him up.

“Do you need me to come in with you baby?” Tony asks, and Bucky tenses.

“I’m coming in with you.” He says, and Bucky relaxes.

Together, they walk up to Bucky’s apartment, Tony’s car driving away. He steers Bucky to the door, taking the keys from his shaking hands. They walk to the elevator, blissfully empty, and Bucky leads them to his apartment. Tony looks around with disdain at the place, muttering something about security issues and interior design. Bucky sits at the kitchen table, eyes drooping, and Tony pushes a bottle of orange juice towards him.

Bucky sips, then frowns. “I don’t even _own_ orange juice. How…?”

“The limo,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. “Mimosas are made with…” Tony trails off. “I’m having OJ delivered by the way. Be on the lookout.” Tony sounds serious.

“I’ll buy a gallon, don’t worry,” Bucky says and Tony walks around to Bucky’s seat and wraps his arms around him.

“Then you’ll have another gallon from the 10 I’m already going to buy you.” Tony says, and Bucky laughs and leans into him, letting his eyes fall shut.

“Come on, come lie down, on the couch.”

“Or the bed?” Bucky tries to wink suggestively, but when he closes his eye, it doesn’t reopen.

“You okay there Barnes?” Tony chokes back a laugh.

Bucky’s other eye closes without his consent, the stupid thing. Tony catches him as he falls sideways.

“You always get this tired after sex? Damn.” Tony sounds more amused than upset, and manhandles him up to the hallway in the back. Bucky points him towards his room, and he lies him down in the bed. Tony sits down in the chair at the small desk, looking around at Bucky’s plain room with even more disdain.

“You live _here_? It’s so plain, and small, and cold. Does this place even have heat?”

“I’m trying to save money.” Bucky says into his pillow.

“Fuck money. Come live with me.”

“Can’t. Too far from school.”

“Fuck school. Come live with me.” Bucky huffs out a laugh and turns his head to Tony.

Tony cracks a smile from across the room. “You did good, Bucky.”

Bucky grins lazily. “Fuck yeah I did.”

Tony laughs. “Well, sounds like you’re all set.” He stands with a stretch. “I’m off to do some construction work, remodeling, you know how it goes.”

Bucky didn’t. “Be safe.” Bucky says.

“I always am,” he winks, and walks out the door.

 

 

 

“ _That’s not quite what I expected when you mentioned construction work.”_ Bucky texts Tony, as he watches, live, as the newly minted “Avengers” pick up giant pieces of rubble on the five o’clock news. Bucky’s got his laptop open and was editing pieces of his dissertation on the couch while his roommates, a quiet Korean couple, were cooking dinner.

“…have real life superheroes protecting us in New York. Up next: Investigators are bewildered when, yet _another_ bomb explodes, killing several, and leaving behind no evidence as to…”

Bucky looks down when his phone buzzes again. Tony’s sent pack a picture of a shirtless construction worker with his face photoshopped on top. Bucky bursts out laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy, ao3 does not like tabs, huh.
> 
> My mistakes are my own!


	3. Dinner Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What. Is that.” Bucky pants out. Tony watches the way his eyes take in the flat base, the thin yet substantial shaft, and the rounded sphere at the tip.
> 
> “It’s a vibrator, except better, faster, and much, much stronger, because I built it myself. Never had a chance to use it on anyone, but, let me tell you, I’ve never quite enjoyed testing out a potential product as much as I have this one.” He smoothes lube liberally over the toy.
> 
> “You’ve, uh, you have used it? I didn’t know you liked to…”
> 
> Tony smiles as he positions the toy at Bucky’s hole. “Pleasure for pleasure’s sake,” he says, before pressing in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Tony Stark's POV is actually physically exhausting, mostly because there's so many nuances to his behavior, but alas! Tis done. He thinks so fast that my writing actually started reflecting that, and while the descriptions of everything aren’t as detailed, I’m trying to focus on the characterzation of who Tony is shining through. 
> 
> I had to finish this chapter on my phone under the table of my family reunion, and I'm posting it in the porta potty out back. yeet. That means that all of my mistakes are still my own!
> 
> Thank you for all your kudos and your bookmarks and your gorgeous comments <3! Please leave me your thoughts!!
> 
> Christ this is 10k when did that happen?

_“Dinner, my place, Friday, 8PM. I got you something.”_ Tony texts Bucky as he strolls through the halls of his tower, Happy trailing behind him.

 _Headed in to meet with Robertson.”_ He sends thirty seconds later as he pushes through the glass doors of the conference room. Yeah, he’s a double texter. Fuck the system.

Bucky responds as Pepper walks in. “ _See you then! And that’s so nice of you Tony, thanks for thinking of me._ ” Tony mentally snorts. “ _See if you can get a pic of his face?”_

Tony shoots a text to JARVIS to record the meeting as Happy cracks the door to let in Robertson.

One of the countless things Tony Stark admired about Pepper Potts was her ability to maintain her composure. She could navigate a merger (read: acquisition) or acquisition (read: hostile takeover) with companies led by mansplaining, chauvinistic men better than Tony could build a two-cylinder engine. Her smile and demeanor wouldn’t change from the first contract negotiation to the eighteenth, her pleasant disposition usually leading to the initial, yet wrong, assumption that she could be taken advantage of. Couple this with her endless persistence grown from years of managing a wild Tony Stark, she could outmaneuver and wear down even the most arrogant of men until she got exactly what she wanted. Robertson wasn’t the first person to imply Pepper’s didn’t earn her position, but Tony gained a visceral pleasure from watching as men were either whipped into shape by her unyielding personality or stripped to nothing under her sharp gaze.

If Tony were to look deeper, he would realize that they both gain pleasure from the same thing, but he’s been avoiding introspection lately.

“Mr. Robertson, I appreciate you coming all this way. I hope your drive in wasn’t too bad with all the snow.” Pepper Potts says pleasantly, motioning for Austin Robertson and his two lawyers to sit across from her at the meeting table. Tony’s sitting at the other end of the long table, perpendicular to the talks, legs propped up and crossed at the ankle. He shoots a text to Bucky: “ _go time._ ”

“It wasn’t too bad, one of the benefits of having a driver, right Mr. Stark?” Austin’s looking at him with unearned familiarity. _I’m not your buddy, pal_.

“Pretend I’m not here. This is not my meeting, I’m just here to watch the expert work.” He’s referring to Pepper, but his vague wording has the desired effect of causing Robertson to puff up with pride. _The harder they fall._

“Mr. Robertson,” Pepper begins.

“Hm?” Austin replies distractedly. “Yes. Ms. Potts. My lawyers and I have drafted up a proposed agreement between us and Stark Industries.” One his lawyers leans down to grab something from his briefcase, but Pepper stops him with a wave of her hand.

“However bold it may be to arrive at a meeting with the assumption that you are to be bought, I’m afraid this is not what we are here to discuss today.”

Austin frowns, confused, like the thought never crossed his weaselly mind. “But it was my understanding, from the discussion I had with Mr. Stark on Friday, that Stark Industries was ready to make an offer. Forgive me, if I came prepared.”

“I’m not sure where that assumption came from, but—” Pepper begins.

“Mr. Stark, we entered a verbal agreement Friday that Stark Industries would provide an offer towards our company. Verbal agreements are binding in the state of New York.” Robertson states impatiently.

Bucky’s sent Tony a photo of himself, hair delightfully mussed, lying in bed, shirtless, and Tony’s would much rather look at that look up.

Pepper is still all pleasant smiles, despite the fact the Robertson isn’t even looking at her. “It is a common misconception that you are not the first to fall victim too,” she starts.

When he realizes he’s being ignored, Robertson turns back to Pepper, his face showing signs of consternation. “Tony Stark is not the CEO of Stark Industries, nor does he have the right to make any offers in an official capacity in its name. But, the CEO of Stark Industries does, and she is sitting in front of you, and you should likely think twice before cutting her off.”

Robertson sighs audibly. “It wasn’t my intention to—”

“Stark Industries,” Pepper cuts him off right back, “is the top technology and engineering firm in the world. It prides itself on hosting only the best of the best in technology, science, engineering, cybersecurity, and beyond. This expectation is not just used to ensure the highest caliber of products for our customers, but is also an expectation placed on the behaviors of each employee, partner, and subsidiary that has the privilege of being associated with us.

“It has come to the attention of Stark Industries that you, Mr. Austin Robertson, and many of your affiliates, have been ostensibly rude, close minded, and insensitive in your behaviors and actions, and have used language that is contrary to the values of Stark Industries. We have zero tolerance policy for prejudice based on sex, race, religion, ethnicity, genetic information, sexual identity, or appearance. It is for those reasons that Stark Industries has decided not to follow through with an offer for you, Mr. Robertson.”

Tony lets out a low whistle. Pepper doesn’t even spare him a glance.

“Ms. Potts, I don’t understand.” Austin says weakly. “Where is this coming from?”

“Your language at ‘Next in Tech’ did not go unnoticed, Mr. Robertson.” Austin pales as Pepper stands, her smile pure ice. JARVIS snaps a picture. “Perhaps you can find somewhere else that cares less about the character of people they do business with.”  

“Wait, Ms. Potts.” He stands, rushes to get the words out. “I’m sorry, I truly am. I’m sure whatever I said or did was purely inadvertent. I had no intention of—"

“We have a close relationship with Mr. Nelson, and I will be happy to inform him, as well as our other allies and competitors, of your opinions of people of his skin color.” Tony remembered Bucky mentioning how an African American CEO had tried to buy the algorithm, but Tony didn’t realize Pepper knew him.

 “I’ll do anything to make it up to you, just, don’t tell anyone anything.” Austin pleads. “We could, we could renegotiate the terms of the contract! There are many aspects of the deal I’d be willing to give up. We could make some changes that would be beneficial for Stark Industries, if you just let me—"

Pepper’s smile fills with pity, like the way one looks at a child that’s crying as its parents leave them on their first day of kindergarten. “I’m sure there are a lot of things you’d be willing to give up for the sake of a contract with Stark Industries, but we are a company that values integrity and hard work, not bending over backwards, to get what we want.”

Tony doesn’t even hide his grin this time.

Austin swallows and turns to him. “Mr. Stark, maybe if we could—”

“Did she not put it clear enough, kid?”

Austin swings his head back and forth between to two of them, then suddenly steels himself. “You are going to regret this. I am one of the most popular things on the market right now, and—”

“I don’t think anyone’s going to want you after the statement we put out about your beliefs and behaviors.” Pepper says. “The door is behind you.”

“Stop cutting me off, woman!” He shrieks.

“Alright Mr. Mommy Issues, that’s officially the line.” Tony stands and stalks towards Robertson. He takes one look at Tony, seems to remember he’s a goddamn superhero, and more or less dashes from the meeting room, lawyers in tow.

Pepper gives Tony a long, suffering look. He’s unapologetic.

“I know, you had that handled, but I wanted to scare him. I should have gotten one of the suits.” Tony muses.

“You and those suits Tony,” she sighs. “Let’s wait a minute, until Happy ensures he’s left the building.”

Tony drifts while they wait, and, as it has been lately, Bucky Barnes comes to the forefront of his mind. This time though, his thoughts were less about Bucky’s killer body and more about his refrigerator, namely, the fact that it was completely empty. Scratch that, it had two shelves full of Korean food, but while Bucky could just be on a very specific diet, it’s probably the case that the food is his roommate’s, and Bucky’s too broke to buy perishables.

Immediately uncomfortable with that thought, Tony whips out his phone. For the first time in his life, he goes grocery shopping, and $323 later, several boxes are in route to Bucky’s apartment, thanks to Amazon.

Tony scowls when he thinks of Jeff Bezos. “Do you think Stark Industries can get into delivery services?”

Pepper rolls her eyes at the tired argument. “You can’t make Stark Industries the new Amazon, Tony. We just don’t have the infrastructure.”

“Not if everything was robots…” he trails off, and is working out the logistics of his own autonomous grocery delivery service when Happy gives the all clear through the glass. They make their way out into the hall and Happy melts in step behind them.

“Where are you off to so fast?” Tony says to Pepper, heels striking the floor with a frightening speed. “I like that color on you. In a, uh, platonic way.” He winces. “We should get lunch. Not like _that_ , like, you know, a boss and an assistant.”

“I’m not your assistant anymore, remember Tony?” Pepper sighs, exasperated. She’s always exasperated with him, nowadays.

“Great, as friends then. Friends do lunch, right?”

“I can’t meet you for lunch Tony, I’m headed back to Malibu in an hour. To run your company, remember?”

“Can’t that wait? It’s my jet. Your jet. The Stark, uh, jet. Listen. Don’t you want to see me, your long lost not-quite-a-boss, hopefully a friend?”

“I did see you, at ‘Next in Tech’, remember?” She’s playing it professional, but Tony’s sick of it. He needs her to know that when they broke it off, that for the first time in his life, he actually meant ‘let’s just be friends.’

“That wasn’t nearly long enough! A few hours? Plus you spent most of the time talking to everyone else there.” Tony Stark does not pout.

“Because I was _working_ , Tony.” She turns as they reach the elevator, and steps up to him, hand coming to rest on his arm. “And when things thinned out at the end, and the networking had been closed, and I came to find you, so we could go back to the tower and catch up like friends would…” Pepper’s head tilts and Tony realizes this is a trap, abort _, abort_ “…that’s when I realized that you had left me.”

Shit _._ “Well, there were things...”

“ _Again.”_

Fucking shit. “That was not quite...”

“And then our plans to go to brunch Sunday? What happened to those?” But Pepper’s smiling now, her exasperated, caring, tired smile that has Tony relaxing into old habits.

“I actually had some pressing pants. _Plans_. To get my pants. Pressed.”

“Because you were going with your new date?” She giggles at him. “He’s a little… young, isn’t he?

“He’s very mature for his age. And very legal! Like, super legal. Gotta be mid-20s.”

Pepper searches his eyes, then softens. “I’m happy for you Tony. Sticking with one person is good for you, even if it’s just for a weekend.” She teases.

Then she says, “I know things didn’t work out between us Tony…” and nope they are Not Doing This.

“I’m sending Happy with you.” He blurts, desperate for a subject change.

“Happy? Where, to Malibu?”

“He is, was, my best bodyguard, and frankly is sick and tired of me having sex in the back seat of the car, so now he’s your bodyguard. Happy?”

“No, I’m not _happy_! I don’t need—”

“Pep, no, I meant the guy—"

“Yes, Tony?” Happy chirps from behind him.

“How do you feel about Malibu?”

“Tony, I don’t need a bodyguard.” Pepper protests.

“The weather is alright this time of year.” Happy comments.

“We all need bodyguards. I have about, what, 15 of ‘em?” _41, actually_. “Give or take? Some have blown up, I gave one to the US government, and what kind of name is Iron Patriot…”

“Tony, I’ll be okay.”

“Ok but _what if you’re not._ ” He suddenly shouts, and he immediately squeezes his eyes shut.

Shit. He grits his teeth. _Shit_. Inhale; count to 4. Exhale; count to 8.

When he opens his eyes, Pepper’s face is drawn with worry. “Pepper. There are an infinite amount of potential, _non-human_ enemies that we, humans, have yet to meet. I have to assume, since I’m now on the front lines of all this, that I have to be the one to meet them when one day, out of the blue, they crack open another hole in the sky and try to take over the world. And they are going to come after the people I care about, and I can’t let you get hurt.” He says. “Let Happy protect you. Or a suit. There’s no room for them in the tower, anyways. I can spare, like, four.”

Pepper’s stares in his eyes with an openness he can’t ever hope to replicate, and Tony is reminded, terribly and completely, how much he doesn’t deserve her.

“What, something on my face?” He deflects.

“Alright, Tony, if it makes you feel better, I’ll make Happy my bodyguard. Happy, you’re okay with this?”

“Sure thing Ms. Potts.”

“Great. It’s settled. Happy, congrats. Ms. Potts?” He nods.

“Mr. Stark.” She nods back with a smart smile, and it makes him think things might begin to be okay.

 

 

 

Tony is partially staring down a microscope and partially wondering if Bucky would look better in a navy scarf or a charcoal one when he’s interrupted in the lab by a brief, abrasive video call with Director Fury.

“I want you to house the Avengers.” He demands.

“Yes, I’m doing well. Are you doing well? Chivalry isn’t doing well, it’s dead.”

“Now, more than ever, the Avengers need to stick together. The world needs to see it’s heroes in a united front.” He continues, and Tony snorts. This has nothing to do with protecting the world, and everything to do with the fact that it’s easier to track all of the super friends when they were in one place.

“How did you get this number?” Tony responds.

“It’s been months,” Fury plows on, “and New York is still a nightmare of destroyed buildings, displaced citizens, and alien technology.” Fury sounds annoyed, and has this way of speaking that makes it sound like he’s shouting without raising his voice. Tony wonders if that’s a tone reserved just for him. He certainly hopes so.

“It’s _always_ been like that. Can we have this talk later? I’m in the middle of some delicate, ah _shit_.” Tony’s trying to use tweezers to install the worlds tiniest motion sensor in almost-the-world’s tiniest circuit board, and he slips and crushes it. Again. Stupid hands, they never used to shake this bad. He tosses everything down with a huff, crosses his arms and meets Fury’s eyepatch. “We do cleanup every weekend, show the press we’re a big, happy superfamily. Is that not enough?”

“If could you see what I see, Stark—"

“In two-dimensions?”

“You’d know Captain America’s only pastime is wrecking things in the gym. Spends his days holed up in his room, alone.”

“So what? He’s an introvert.”

“Black Widow is scared.”

“How the fuck can you tell?” Tony’s still ticked at “Iron Man: yes, Tony Stark: no.” Worst assistant ever.

“Hawkeye,” Fury rolls on, “his hearing was damaged in close proximity to an explosion during the fight. It’s down to a fraction of what it once was.”

Tony winces. He didn’t know that.

“Not the mention the fact not many people at SHIELD like it that he killed his own teammates.”

“He didn’t have a _choice_.” Tony snaps, and fuck, he lost.

“The team needs you Stark. They will report tomorrow.”

“The tower’s not even _done.”_

“Oh, and Stark? Try and keep it out of the papers, please. He seems a little young for you, doesn’t he?”

“He’s an adul—oh for _fuck’s_ sake.” Fury’s already hung up.

Tony buries his face in his hands. This was going to be a nightmare of trauma issues and male egos (sorry Natasha), and somehow, it’s all going to fall to him to fix it. Plus, he’s going to have to cram them all into the floor below his because construction on the Avenger’s part of the tower was still in development, and he’s going to get a shit ton of complaints about that. Why the fuck does it feel like he has no say in his own life? Tony rolls his head back to stare at the ceiling. He feels like he’d just run a marathon.

Inhale. Count to four, exhale. Count to eight. He continues until his hands stop shaking.

Of course, he was going to do it. If any of them needed a place to stay, a new uniform, a goddamn sandwich, he’d make one in a heartbeat. He knows it, Fury knows it, and it’s his fatal fucking flaw.

He misses the days when all he had to do was blow up his own weapons.

“JARVIS.”

“ _Yes, sir.”_

 _"_ Put aside some educational material for me, keywords: hearing loss, hearing aids, deafness, and ASL. Look at journal articles, conferences, and books from the last 5 years. No videos, they talk too slow.” He starts to search for the tools to build a new motion sensor.

“ _Searching now, sir.”_

“Also, buy Bucky the scarf, he’s seems like a Burberry kind of guy. Have it sent here.”

“ _Which color did you decide on, sir?”_

Tony hums. “Por qué no los dos?”

“ _Sí, señor.”_

                 

 

 

Good ol’ Cap reports at oh-nine-hundred Wednesday morning, all American beef and distant smiles and can I park my motorcycle in your garage? Tony had crawled out of the lab to go meet him in the lobby, where he was making awkward, stilted conversation with the receptionist.

Steve and his relationship is weird and nebulous. At first, Tony could attribute it to Howard’s idealization of the man, combined with his deep seated daddy issues. _Never meet your heroes_. But then they were thrust into a war together, and like most soldiers on the same side they’d shut up and learned to work together. Add that to the fact that Steve was one of the first people he saw after Tony died and came back to life? Well.

Well shit. He’d almost forgotten about that.

In the elevator they don’t say a word, and Steve either doesn’t notice or is too polite to mention the way Tony is busy inhaling, counting to 4, exhaling, counting to 8.

When they step off the elevator, it immediately opens up to the Avenger’s floor, which was directly below the penthouse. There’s an entry way with a few couches and TV, a fridge, a microwave, a table, and a hallway in the back leading to rooms.

“Sorry it’s not more.” He says. “Renovations are nowhere close to done, so it may feel more like a dorm. Everything’s soundproof at least. I had a kitchen put in the penthouse, so you’ll have to deal with going upstairs for more than a cup of coffee and snacks. There’s a gym a floor down, a pool too. The gun range still needs government approval though, so please, no shooting.” He leads them to the back where the rooms were, and Steve follows dutifully. He cracks open the first door. He specifically designed it so that each room had one wall of floor to ceiling windows, a bed, bathroom, closet, and a little sitting area with a TV.

“You can pick whichever one you want, Cap, since you’re the first to arrive.” As Steve walks in and places his duffle on the bed, Tony goes on to explain as much as he can, from JARVIS, to the television, to where to put the dirty laundry.

“Thank you for doing all this, Tony.” Steve says when Tony trails off. Tony shrugs. He motions to go, but then takes in the way Steve is sitting quietly on the edge of the bed, completely lost. Tony kinda gets what Fury means.

“How has SHIELD been, with the whole catching up thing?” Tony ventures. He slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and notices he has a small blood stain on them from where he tested the injection gun on his wrist.

Steve looks at him, surprised. “Just the basics really. Missed a couple wars, we had a Catholic president, bread’s really expensive. Fury was having big week when I woke up, so they were a little distracted.”

“You have a laptop? Phone? All that good stuff?”

Steve nods. “SHIELD gave me all that before I left. Basically threw me out the door this morning, so.” He seems a little annoyed at that.

“You were in New York?” Tony ventured. “Thought you were going DC?”

“That was the plan, but I guess they didn’t want me there. So, I’m here.” Tony frowns. He doesn’t like how resigned to his fate Steve is.

 “Well, where do you want to be?”

A derisive snort. “In 1945.”

A beat of silence.

“Living in the past is a bad look,” Tony says. “Just ask Madonna.”

Steve scowls. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

Tony doesn’t know what to do with that, so he just turns to leave.

 

 

 

Tony’s wondering if Bucky’s a rope guy or a leather strap guy when he strolls into the penthouse, sunset warming the room. He doesn’t even realize that Natasha’s here until he’s in his kitchen, and Tony doesn’t even realize she’s in his kitchen until she politely asks him if he wants her to chip in with the groceries. Tony jumps a mile in the air, and it takes a full minute before he can catch his breath.

“Make a list and I’ll figure it out. You ever think about wearing a bell?” _Fucking spies._

“It would make espionage a difficult,” she says, but she’s not sarcastic, as if she’s actually considering the challenge.

“Clint is here too.” She looks bizarre in jeans. “Did Fury tell you about…?”

“Hearing loss. I’ve been researching. How bad is it? If it’s only partial, I may be able to mock something up.” Tony muses, as he grabs some leftover pasta from the fridge.

“Ask him yourself,” Natasha points behind him, and of course Clint is perched on the countertop behind him, staring into his phone. He looks up when he feels eyes on him.

Tony puts his food in the microwave, then turns and signs ‘hello, bird.’ Clint grins.

“Didn’t know you knew ASL, man.” He says back, too loud.

Too embarrassed to admit he’d learned it for Clint instead of sleeping last night, Tony just shrugs.

‘I, need, your, medical, documents.’ He signs slowly. Learning a new language is hard, he’d need two, maybe three days to master it.

‘I, will, make, you, ears.’ Tony hopes it gets his message across.

“You’re gonna make me ears, Stark?” Clint cracks, but his voiced is laced with excitement, and Tony’s always liked the guy, so he lets it slide.

He gives them the tour and shows them to their rooms between bites of fettuccini, and escapes to the lab as soon as possible.

It only takes a few hours for Tony to port his speech to text algorithm into JARVIS’s sensors, and grabs a tablet from his workshop before going back upstairs to the Avenger’s floor. Clint’s sprawled on the couch watching some sort of cooking show, and Natasha and Steve are nowhere to be found. He stands in front of him, then hands the tablet to Clint, and says, “You like cooking shows?” Clint furrows his brow, missing what he says, but Tony did that on purpose. He points at the screen of the tablet, where it reads.

_Tony Stark: ‘You like cooking shows?’_

“It will only work with people within speaking distance, and it only works in the tower because it relies on JARVIS’s sensors to pick up what people are saying.” Of course, he could put JARVIS into the tablet itself, but Tony would never in his right mind give something with JARVIS installed on it to a SHIELD agent. “But, it should get you through everything until I can get a handle on hearing loss. It also can pick up sign language, too. Who ever said computer vision was hard?”

Clint’s been reading the words as they appear on the screen, and Tony’s horrified to find that Clint looks like he’s ready to cry. But instead, he lifts a flat hand to his lips, palm inwards, and moves it away from his face, twice.

“No problem, birdman.” He pats Clint awkwardly on the back, and goes to find Natasha, who has taken the farthest room down the hall.

He knocks and waits for the door to crack open. She’s dressed in sweatpants and loose shirt, and her hair is tied back.

“Stark.” she nods.

Tony blurts out, “You know, Bruce isn’t here, right?” Boy is he just full of tact, today. “Something about Lithuania. He’ll be back soon. But. Just in case you wanted to know.”

There’s a pause, and Natasha nods, once.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he continues, extremely uncomfortable. “Steve and Clint, that is.”

Natasha gives him one of her smiles that mean absolutely nothing. “Goodnight, Tony.” She closes the door, softly.

He considers that to be enough successful social interaction for a week, and makes his way back to the lab.

 

 

 

Sometime later, possibly the next day, who knows anymore, a voice rings out in the empty space of the lab.

“What are you doing, Tones.” An exhausted voice says from behind him, more of a sigh than a question.

Sweet, _sweet_ Rhodey.

“Light of my life! What are you doing here?” Tony rolls away from his desk to grab his soldering iron across the shop.

“You didn’t answer my question Tony.” Rhodey sighs again. He does that a lot.

“You do that a lot. I don’t think that’s very good for you.” Tony says. He snatches the iron and its stand and begins pushing himself back to his desk.

“Do what a lot? Check on you in your lab? Feed you? Clothe you?” Why is he so exasperated?

“Why are you so exasperated? You haven’t had to do those last two since… What was it, the Bahamas? There were _four_ of them Rhodey, that takes a lot of choreography, you know. I was exhausted.”

“Yeah, really took one for the team. I _liked_ Michelle.” Rhodey stops, sitting next to the desk Tony is about to roll up to.

“She liked that you were an American, and was very much in it for your money. Trust me, I did you a favor. She would have torn you to pieces.” Tony reaches for the left leg of his suit, exploded onto his desk, realizes he’s left Rhodey a massive opening, and preemptively winces.

“Really?” He latches on to it like a baby calf. “Unlike that college kid you’ve been keeping in your bed upstairs?” He snatches the iron from Tony’s hand, and Tony leans back as he’s forced to listen.

“Technically, never _in_ the bed. Also, he’s not a kid. We’re dating, or whatever.”

“Yeah, ok, I get what you have to tell the lawyers but tell me, your best friend, the truth.”

Tony gasps, trembles his bottom lip. “I’m your… best friend?”

“Tony I _refuse_ to do this with—”

“—completely _honored_ you would think—”

“—same old bullshit. Don’t know how—”

“—and I have to say, from the heart of my bottom, that you, Colonel Rhodes—”

 “—know that you’re listening to every word I’m saying so I’m going to ask you again.”

Tony sighs. Shuts up.

“What are you doing?” Rhodey asks again.

Tony scrubs his hands down his face, wishing he had a drink in his hand.

“A _hooker_?” Rhodey continues.

Tony snorts because of course he’s figured it out.

“He’s _not_ a hooker.” Tony says to his hands. “He’s. We’re dating.”

“Mhm, yeah okay, the same way people rich people in their forties—”

“39!” Tony protests.

“ _Forties_ constantly date and marry young men and women for ‘love’. Tony, I thought you were past this. You had such high hopes with Pepper. You were eating better, cutting back on drinking. What happened? Talk to me.”

 “Pepper and I weren’t meant to be. Like that, anyways.” She cared to much. Wore her heart on her sleeve. She needs someone easy, like an accountant.

“And you and this guy are?”

 “Bucky is simple. He needs simple things. Bottom of Maslow’s hierarchy things. Food, clothes, shelter. Sex. I can give him that.”

“Uh huh, and what do you get in return? You could fuck anyone you damn well wanted to. You’re _Tony Stark_.”

Tony admires Rhodey’s efforts, but this wasn’t a matter of self-esteem.

No, this was a matter of Bucky Barnes, eyeing him up and down at that bar, trying his chances with him because he was looking for a challenge. This was a matter of Bucky staring Tony directly in the eyes on a cold, cold balcony and asking to be _wrecked._ Bucky’s looking for something rough, something grounding. If this was purely about money, Barnes would have named a price and fucked like a doll. But the man who came against Tony’s leg, who begged so beautifully on Tony’s carpet, who tilts into his praise like he’s starved his whole life, who loses himself with such abandon when he orgasms, who hasn’t backed down from anything Tony’s thrown at him…

He needs someone to fuck the daylights out of him and hold him steady afterwards, and for the first time since he flew a nuke into space, Tony felt like he could live up to someone’s expectations.

Instead of saying any of this like a goddamn adult, he says, “I have a new kink.”

Rhodey tilts his head towards the ceiling. Swears.

“I like to pay, now. It’s a power thing, ya know? I pay people for sex. So hot.”

“You have a lot of fucking power Tony, you really telling me you need more?” Oddly, the answer to that is yes, but Tony decides to crack a joke about ‘fucking power’ instead, and Rhodey sighs.

“I _told you_ to stop _doing that_.” Tony says indignantly.

“What, sighing? Because that’s what you make me do, Tony.”

“What’s wrong honey bear, hard day at work? I can call the president, get you a day off.” Tony’s read the exhaustion from Rhodey’s stance from the second he walked in the lab.

“I… you know? You probably could.” Rhodey shakes his head. “Just worrying about you Tony.”

“Well, don’t. Because that is going to get you nowhere. What is it, really?” Because he knows Rhodey is holding out on him.

Rhodey gives him a look. “It’s Top Secret, ok?”

“SCIF mode, JARVIS.”

The room’s lights dim, and every screen except one shuts down. The doors lock with a hiss.

“You’ve heard of these explosions?” Rhodey begins.

“Yeah, there’s been three. This is an army issue?”

“Officially there’s been three, really, there’s been nine. And some intelligence people are starting to look into it, because each one leaves behind no forensic evidence of a bomb. Everyone’s scratching their heads.”

“What, it’s not just some serial killer?”

“The explosions are everywhere across the country, and the higher ups think this might be the act of a new terrorist.” Rhodey says.

“A terrorist? Really?” Compared to space aliens and intergalactic Gods, a terrorist seems almost manageable.

Tony muses over the problem, and looks at Rhodey, who’s looking way too worn down for his own good. Time to bring back the ‘Tony’s incapable of handling his own shit’, schtick. He gives him a nudge. “You’ll figure it out, ‘ _Iron Patriot_.’ Where’s my iron? JARVIS? Un-SCIF this shit.” Everything boots back to life.

Rhodey stops a moment, giving Tony a long, searching look that makes his nose itchy.

“It did well in focus groups,” he replies defensively. “And don’t change the subject, this ‘Bucky’ thing isn’t over.” He returns the iron to Tony.

“Yes, it is.” No, it isn’t.

“No, it isn’t. I’m telling Pepper.” Rhodey calls as he makes his way out.

“She already knows, and she _likes him_.”

“She knows he’s a hooker?” He calls.

“I, well, no, it’s, uh. And he’s not!” But Rhodey was already gone, whisked away in the elevator.

“JARVIS, send that into a text to Rhodey.”

“ _The words ‘I, well, no, it’s, uh,’ sir?”_

“Never mind.” He grumbles.

 

 

Tony’s bent over the bottom half of his newest suit when JARVIS’s soothing British tones alert him that Bucky Barnes is at the tower.

Tony blinks. “Why?”

_“I believe he’s here for your scheduled dinner, sir.”_

“That’s not ‘til Friday JARVIS.”

_"That is correct sir.”_

“Then why is he here?”

“ _Sir, logic would imply that he is here to eat dinner.”_

“Is it Friday?” He throws down his screwdriver. “Christ, how long has it been Friday?”

“ _18 hours, 41 minutes, 32 seconds.”_

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier, J?” Tony’s in jeans and a stained sweater and smells faintly of lighter fluid.

_“I did, sir.”_

Tony collapses into a seat with a huff. “Send him in, put him in the penthouse, and activate Hot Mess protocol JARVIS.”  

 _“Very good, sir._ ”

 

 

 

10 minutes later Tony Stark has been transformed into _Tony Stark_. His stained clothes and his worn sweater have been replaced with a fit blazer and dark jeans. He wiped himself down in baby wipes and masked everything else in cologne, and had painstakingly restyled his hair into effortlessly windswept seconds before the elevator dings.

He steps into the penthouse and pauses, taking in Bucky. He was leaning on the floor to ceiling windows, looking out to the balcony and to New York below. It had started snowing at some between Tony entering the lab and leaving it, and a thin layer of white was coating the helicopter pad.

“I’m half a second away from saying some cheesy line about how nice the view is.” He drawls, eyes fixedly pointed on Bucky’s ass.

Bucky turns the top half of his body towards Tony, revealing his slate gray eyes and enticing smile, and emphasizing, completely on purpose, the way his back curves into his hips. “What’s stopping you? I don’t mind.”

In lieu of an answer, Tony stalks towards Bucky, who has turned all the way to face him. As Tony approaches, he watches as want floods Bucky’s features, watches as his legs spread slightly, watches the way he bites his lips and tilts his head, the whole stance half submissive, half challenging.

He’s a professional, for sure, but Tony doesn’t really care about the stuff he’s trained to do. Tony wants to break him down into who he _really_ is, and Tony thinks Bucky is the kind of guy who can handle that.

Tony doesn’t hesitate when he reaches him; he simply presses his full body against Bucky’s, causing Bucky to inhale sharply. The world slows as he looks up and stares him down, examining him, from the sparkling eyes, to the cut of his jaw, to the slightly damp ends of his hair. Tony leans in and lifts his hand, sliding it delicately across Bucky’s forehead as he puts an errant strand of hair back into place, and Bucky exhales slowly.

“You ready to eat?” Tony murmurs.

Bucky grins cheekily. “Ya know, I’m half a second from saying a cheesy line about what I really want to eat.”

Tony slips a leg between Bucky’s thighs, jeans against jeans, and says, lowly. “What’s stopping you?”  

Bucky leans in and presses his lips against Tony’s, and Tony immediately takes control, grabbing his jaw in one hand and resting the other on the window pane behind him, trying to memorize the feel of Bucky’s mouth against his. He pulls back after a moment, and Bucky follows, the noise of discontent he makes fueling the fire of his ego.

This is something Tony can do. This is something that Tony can _control._

Tony moves back and straightens himself, feeling more in focused than he had the past few days. “Food’s going to get cold.” He places his hand against Bucky’s back and leads him towards the fireplace, where a small table and two chairs had been set up.

The penthouse is under Date Night Protocol 4, where a fire is set to roar in the fireplace, low, wordless music is pumping through the speakers, and caterers are advised by JARVIS to cook and serve all of the food and leave before they get there.

“Speaking of food,” he says, pulling out Bucky’s chair before sitting in the one across from him. “did you get the groceries?”

Bucky laughs and unbuttons his jacket, revealing a plum color dress shirt. “All _seven_ boxes? Yes, I did, thank you. Had to eat a lot of it because I ran out of room in my fridge. My landlord was upset at the size of the delivery.”

Tony grins pridefully at that, and Bucky huffs. “It took me doubling up my work out to be able to burn it all off.”

“I bet that’s a site for sore eyes. I hope you don’t mind a little more?” He looks down at their individually prepared plates to reveal… duck? And some kind of roast vegetable? And a brownish purple thing that could be a sauce. He’d completely forgotten to order, so JARVIS must have done it for him.

“You don’t have allergies, do you?” he says as he grabs an already poured glass of wine from the table, pushing the other towards Bucky.

Bucky takes it in his hand, swirling thoughtfully. “Not that I know of.”

“Perfect. Cheers.” He holds the glass up in front of Bucky. “To the death of Austin Robertson.”

Bucky grins. “Good riddance. Guy was an asshat.” Tony laughs before taking a sip, and Bucky takes the cue to dig in.

Tony wasn’t hungry, but also wasn’t sure the last time he ate, so he settles with eating small careful bites and moving his food around on his plate. A thought strikes him.

“I know I shouldn’t ask this, because I’m really not going to like the answer, but did you and him…” Tony sighs, stops. Tries again. “I’m aware of what you do.”

“Not him.” Bucky says immediately. “He, like a lot of others, just liked having me on his arm.  The ones who wanted more were mostly older woman, and men that liked to watch.” Tony must be making a face, because Bucky tacks on, “none were _nearly_ as good as you.”

“I’m pretty sure you have to say that,” Tony sips his wine. Bucky huffs out a laugh, sounding almost… self-depreciating?

“Usually yes,” Bucky says, “but this feels… different.”

Tony frowns, and searches Bucky for a lie. Bucky seems genuine, but...

“Though, Austin _did_ try.” Bucky says thoughtfully. “He kept trying to get me to kiss him, kept groping me at the party...” Tony fights his glower. “I drew the line was when he brought over some guys and tried to intimidate me into a gangbang.” Bucky says casually. Tony visibly bristles at that, and Bucky stabs at his food, hiding a grin. “Ya know, this is really good, I’ve never had duck before.”

Tony realizes he’s being played, and manages to distract himself by taking a bite of the duck.

“Where do you go to school? Columbia? That’s pretty decent.” Tony says.

“I’m a few years in,” Bucky responds. “Biomedical engineering.”

Tony leans in, delighted. “Bold choice. What about it interests you?”

For the first time since he’s met him, Bucky shows signs of shyness. “It’s, well. I’ve always been good with numbers. Angles, geometry and the like. So growing up everyone told me to be an engineer. But I was more fascinated with the thing that let me think like that, my own brain, you know, which is arrogant as hell when I say it out loud, but whatever. So I took a half and half route. Biomedical engineering.”

“You wanna build a better brain based on a computer, or a better computer based on a brain?” Tony quizzes him.

“Both, kinda? I want to get them to talk to each other, ya know, like you can plug in USB into a pile of nerves and it just figures it out. I have an awful lotta ideas about prosthetics too. A lot of people think that the prosthetic has to learn to read the brain, but I think the brain is smart enough to learn how to use the prosthetic, like…” Bucky stops short and frowns into his food.

“Like?” Tony’s very interested now, he had no idea this was in him.

 Bucky looks conflicted. “Sorry, uh. I don’t know, like someone picks up a game controller for the first time, and it’s kinda intuitive sure, but it’s still stiff at first right? But overtime, people learn to use it to the point they don’t even have to think about pressing the buttons. They can think about a character on a screen jumping and the brain will just hit the ‘A’ button without the person actively making their thumb move. And if we could apply that same thing to prosthetic limbs, then…” Bucky stops. “I don’t mean to go on like this.”

“This is, quite literally, foreplay for me. What year are you?”

“My third, going on my fourth,” Bucky says.

Tony squints. “And what kind of degree are you getting.” Because Bucky seems to be way to focused on prosthetics for him to be an undergrad.

Bucky winces. “My PhD.”

 “Color me impressed, not-so-much-of-a kid. Wait, so how old are you?”

“Old enough.” He says, oddly quiet, and why is he so embarrassed about this?

“Why are you so embarrassed about this?” He pours himself another glass of wine, and tops Bucky off as well. Bucky takes his time cutting his last pieces of duck into bite size peoples, before responding.

“It’s just not the most interesting thing in the world.” He says. “I look young, that’s all. What about you? Do you live with the Avengers? I saw you guys on TV a few times.” Personal question for personal question. Fair enough.

“They actually moved in pretty recently. Swell guys. Listen, I got you something.” He stands up, leaving behind half of his food. He reaches walks over to the bar to grab the Burberry bag, and returns to Bucky finishing his glass of wine.

“Burberry? How did you know?” Bucky grins, and he reaches in the bag to receive the two boxes. He opens them both up, revealing the two scarves, and his eye widen. “You got me two? These are $400!”

“I didn’t know which would look better on you. So I got both. Do you know how much money I have?” Tony grins. “Model them for me babe.”

Bucky takes out the charcoal scarf, striped in the traditional Burberry pattern, and wraps it around his neck. He tosses his hair to the side and stares at Tony, biting his lips.

“Do you like my ‘blue steel,’ Mr. Stark?” He says in a ridiculously overdone sultry tone.

Tony laughs. When Bucky winks, he laughs harder.

He tries on the navy one too, and Tony immediately likes the charcoal better.

“I, immediately, like the charcoal better.” And if Bucky is as broke as he thinks he is… “you can keep both, but I only want to see you in the charcoal. Also, remind me to get your suit tailored, one of my acquaintances is having her birthday tomorrow night, and I need you to be in the tightest thing possible.” She and Tony had a competition going about dates.

“Tomorrow night?” Bucky says, “I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

“Well,” Tony stands and rounds the table, walking towards where Bucky is standing. He takes the ends of the scarf in his hand delicately. “after what I have in store for you tonight, I hope you’ll reconsider.” He uses the scarf to pull Bucky in, and Bucky melts into his kiss instantly.

Tony accidentally works himself up exploring Bucky’s mouth, and his voice is commanding when he says, “To my bedroom.”

Bucky grins. “Yes, _sir_ ” he says cheekily, and when Bucky saunters forward towards Tony’s bedroom, Tony gives his cocky little ass a smack.

“Mr. _Stark!”_ He says in his way-overdone sexy voice from before, and Tony cracks up again.

He guides him into his bedroom, and firmly pushes him on the bed. Bucky turns to his back and spreads his legs invitingly. Tony kneels on the edge of the bed and starts to undo Bucky’s shirt. Bucky reaches forward instinctively to undo Tony’s, but Tony shakes his head sharply, lest he find the arc reactor.

Some people can’t handle it, and he’s not about to spoil the mood. It was hard to get people in bed after the whole _terrorists in Afghanistan drilled a hole in my chest_ thing, and the arc reactor added another layer of complexity he did not want to deal with.

Bucky, thank God, lies back and lets himself be still as Tony pulls his dress shirt from his pants. He unbuttons him slowly and removes it from his shoulders, tracing the lines of the surprisingly defined muscles of his chest and shoulders, dragging a finger down the outline of abdominals at the bottom of his torso.

He pushes Bucky backwards and undoes his pants, grasping his briefs as well and slides them downwards until they were pulled off as well. Tony’s mouth goes dry as a now naked Bucky arches his back and exposes the long line of his neck, his cock hardening against his thigh, legs spreading enticingly, his eyes wicked as he displays himself without an ounce of self-conscious energy.

“I need you.” He moans, and the heat behind his words actually sounds sincere.

But Tony, selfishly, wants more. Tony wants him raw, bleeding with need for him.

“When you’re at home,” Tony hums as he stands up from the edge of the bed, “and you jack off. What do you think about?” He’s not sure where he’s going with this train of thought, but his caveman part of his brain, just like the logical part, sometimes thought faster than he could comprehend.

He starts palming his cock through his jeans while he walks around to the side of the bed, noticing the way Bucky’s eyes tracks his movement. “I assume you do that. I mean, for all I know you could be celibate, but from how experienced and unashamed you are, I highly doubt that.” He snorts.

“I think about a lot of things, Mr. Stark,” and Tony can’t help the rush of pleasure he gets from hearing ‘Mr. Stark.’ “As cheesy at it sounds, lately, they’ve mostly been about you.” Bucky responds.

Tony chuckles disbelievingly. “A slut like you? I highly doubt your fantasies are limited to me.” He drops to his knees next to the bed, and reaches underneath, pulling out a black box and placing it on the bed between Bucky’s legs.

“You’ve made it very hard to think of anyone else, Mr. Stark.” Bucky replies, and Tony enjoys the ways Bucky was squirming against the sheets, likely enjoying the silk on his bare skin. His movements were positively sinful, and Tony has the wild thought that he would make a fantastic stripper.

Tony reaches underneath the bed again, grasping one of the black straps that hung off the corners. Years ago, he had run a series of black straps under and through the bed, which was complicated to explain, but believe him when he says it left Tony with four leather straps that ended it soft handcuffs at each corner of the bed, that he could adjust to a various tightness.

He pulls out the one at the corner of the bed, and watches with glee as Bucky’s eyes widen with excitement.

“Give me your leg,” he murmurs, and when Bucky does, he latches one of the cuffs around Bucky’s ankle. He moves up to the head of the bed, before leaning over and pressing a kiss to the inside of Bucky’s wrist. “The arm, now.” Bucky gives it away eagerly, and Tony locks that one in place as well.

He follows suit on the other leg, and when he locks in the other arm, Bucky pulls at all of his new restraints, testing them. He can see the moment when Bucky’s body recognizes he’s trapped, and his breath picks up excitedly, cock already hard against is stomach.

Tony takes his time removing his jacket, folding it delicately across his forearm. He walks over to the side of his room and leaves it on the chair in the sitting room area. He returns, and reaches for the box on the bed.

“So. You masturbate.”  Tony asks as he clicks it open. “That’s obvious. Of course you do.” Tony reaches inside, pulls out a bottle of lube, closes the box and places it on the ground. He could have just grabbed the lube from the box and left it on the ground, but he wants Bucky to see it.

He squeezes some out onto his hand and kneels between Bucky’s legs, the bed shifting underneath his weight. He runs a finger up the underside of Bucky’s cock. “What do you like to think about?”

Bucky swallows. “You, sir.”

Tony sighs and removes his hand. “Ok but _what_ do you like to think about? It’s not just me. Unless you’ve been getting yourself off to my magazine photos since you were a kid. Give me a fantasy.” Tony hopes he’s not exclusively a porn guy or this isn’t going to work.

Bucky moves slightly, as much is he can in the bonds. “Mmmm… I can tell you what I thought about last time?”

Tony nods, grasps firmly around Bucky’s cock before setting a slow, steady pace.

Bucky sighs into it. “One of my fantasies is…” he bites his lip, starts again. “I was in the gym late a few nights ago. Ate a lot, and had to work out extra this week.” He gives Tony a look. Tony smiles back.

 “When I had finished up, I got undressed and headed to the showers. The showers are communal, and usually there’s someone there, but I guess it was so late or something that it was empty.” Bucky’s eyes clothes as he shifts into a memory. “I remember there were two guys in the locker room though, right on the other side of the wall. And the showers, while the stalls are separated, really only had thin sheet that gave you privacy.”

Tony picks up on his meaning. “You dirty, dirty boy.” Tony says, and he picks up the pace on Bucky’s cock, twisting when he reaches the head. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did.” Bucky says with a cocky drawl, “I was trying so hard to keep quiet…”

“But part of you didn’t want to keep quiet, did it?” Tony says, the image of Bucky thrusting into one hand, the other against his mouth, trying to keep quiet in the showers getting him well and truly hard. He takes his left hand and starts tracing it up Bucky’s thigh. “You little slut.” He says, almost fondly. He follows his words by pressing his pointer finger against Bucky’s hole.

Bucky moans, tossing his head to the side to gasp at the wall. “Yeah, I… I kept thinking about what would happen if someone came in and found me…”

Tony grins as his presses a finger inside Bucky. He moans, and tries to push back against it.

“So eager.” Tony says, as he starts pressing a finger inside Bucky, stroking his cock along with it. “You can’t cum until I say so, understand?”

“Yes, ah! Yes Mr. Stark.” Bucky pants.

“What do you think would happen if someone found you?” Tony starts working another finger inside. “In the shower. Do you think they’d stop and watch as you stripped your cock?”

“Well I wasn’t—fuck, I wasn’t just jerking myself off.” Bucky says back, somehow still cheeky despite the stimulation Tony was providing. “Had a finger or two up their as well.”

Heat rushes towards Tony’s cock, and he presses his two fingers in the Bucky, curls them upwards and strokes directly on Bucky’s prostate. Bucky moans, high pitched and desperate as Tony thrusts and strokes. “God, you couldn’t fucking resist, could you? You really just wanted someone to walk and see you bent over, fucking yourself hm? Prepping yourself on the off chance someone would come in, see you, and bend you over the stall?” Tony imagines Bucky, legs spread, head tossed back, trying to get the angle right as he fucked himself on his fingers.

Bucky’s cock has been twitching in his hand. “Fuck! Mr. Stark, I’m close, _please_ , Mr. Stark.”

Tony lets him squirm, waits for his eyes to squeeze shut, for the muscles of his abs to pulse, for his deep moans to turn into desperate whimpers, before he finally, at the last moment, pulls back. Bucky keens as he fights his orgasm, moaning out a steady stream of “Oh God, oh God…”, his abdomen clenching and releasing, arms and legs pulling hard against his bonds, and fuck. Tony thinks he’s going to lose the fight until he lets out one final gasp, and collapses back to the bed, exhausted.

Tony grins. “Already? I’m nowhere near done.”

Bucky lets out a tired swear at Tony leaves the bed and returns to the box. He pulls out a silicone toy.

“What. Is that.” Bucky pants out. Tony watches the way his eyes take in the flat base, the thin yet substantial straight shaft, and the rounded sphere at the tip.

“It’s a vibrator, except better, faster, and much, much stronger, because I built it myself. Never had a chance to use it on anyone, but, let me tell you, I’ve never quite enjoyed testing out a potential product as much as I have this one.” He smooths lube liberally over the toy.

“You, uh, have used it? I didn’t know you liked too…”

Tony smiles as he positions the toy at Bucky’s hole. “Pleasure for pleasure’s sake,” he says, before pressing in.

Bucky’s moans are intoxicating as Tony watches his rim stretch around the toy. The sphere isn’t massive, but still enough for Bucky to feel it, and when Tony stops at the widest point, he lets out several, shuddering curses. Each one goes straight to Tony’s cock.

Tony holds it there, watches as the emotions flicker across Bucky’s face. “Does it feel good?” He breathes.

Buck nods, and Tony growls. He rears back and slaps Bucky’s thigh, hard. Bucky gasps and twitches, the toy slipping out.

“What did I say about using your _words_ , Barnes? Don’t make me ask again.” He repositions the toy, and stretches out his rim again, and this time he’s whimpering.

“Good, Mr. Stark.” He chokes out.

“That’s more like it,” Tony responds, and rewards Buck by pushing the head all the way in. Bucky lets out a positively sinful noise as it pops in. Bucky’s cock lay hard and neglected against his stomach, raw from the failed orgasm. Tony wastes no time, pushing the head to lay against Bucky’s prostate, and Buck whimpers.

“You ready babe?” Tony murmurs, the pet name sneaking out before he can stop it.

“Yes, Mr. Stark.” Bucky breathes, and Tony snorts because with the size of the motor he put in that thing, he most definitely was not. Tony watches him carefully, lest he becomes over-sensitized.

He flips it on, and Bucky _howls._

Instantly, Bucky’s arms began contracting against his bonds, the muscles straining so hard against the cuffs they were shaking. His skin shines with sweat, and he tosses his head to the side to shake some of his hair from his face, panting into the sheets. He lets out a string of curses as Tony begins to move the toy very, very slowly, not inwards and outwards, but upwards and downwards, so that the spherical head of the toy, already vibrating against Bucky’s prostate, also pulsated in waves of intensity.

“Look at you.” Tony breathes. “Can’t even control yourself.” He’s dizzied with lust.

“P-please.” Bucky sobs. “I… I need…”

“You need whatever I say you need.” Tony growls, and presses the toy upwards, harder against Bucky’s prostate.

Bucky howls again, flicking his head to the other side, pulling his against the cuffs so hard it moves the mattress, but doesn’t give. “Yes, Mr. Stark, sir!” He cries. “What— oh, _fuck_. Whatever you… oh God, oh God, oh God…”

Tony laughs; doesn’t relent. “You can’t even string together two words anymore, can you?” Bucky’s still moaning constantly, thrashing, trying to go both towards and away the intense vibration. Tony finally pushes it downwards, away from Bucky’s prostate, and Bucky lets out a sob. “Please Mr. Stark…”

 _That’s right. Need me Bucky._ “Please what? We talked about you using your words. Tsk, tsk. Can’t even follow simple directions.” He grins widely at Bucky’s whimper; he knows he’s not being fair.

 Bucky swallows. He’s gorgeous, sweat soaked, muscle strained, red down to his chest. His cock is rock hard and weeping. He swallows again. “Mr. Stark. _Please_ may I—”

Tony presses the toy back upwards, and Bucky’s words choke off with a cry. His hips try twist away from the toy, but Tony reaches out his hand and forces him back down to the bed.

“You’re gonna fucking take it, Barnes.” He growls, and Bucky cries out as he spasms. Tony can’t imagine how it must feel. Bucky’s balls looked ready to explode, his cock nearly purple with strain.

Tony lets the toy fall again, and this time turns the switch off, feeling generous. Bucky is shaking with the effort to control himself. “Please…” he whispers, hoarse.

“Please, what? You want me to stop?”

Bucky shakes his head, and realizes his mistake too late.

“You’re not using your words Bucky.” He reaches for the toy again.

“No, Mr. Stark, I— _fuck!”_ Tony pushes it up again, flipping it on, and Bucky sobs as the vibrations cause his body to shake. “I, fuck, please, please let me cum!”

He pulls the toy away again, turning it off. “What’s that?”

“Mr. Stark,” he shakes out. “Will you please let me cum?”

“You want to cum? Really? Why didn’t you ask earlier?” Tony grins.

Bucky gives him the dirtiest look he could manage.

Tony shrugs. “I guess, looking like that, you really don’t want to that bad, huh.” He flips the switch and Bucky cries out.

Tony leaves it there and sits back to admire his handiwork. He undoes his pants and strokes himself vigorously to the sight before him: Bucky flushed and desperate and loud, squirming against bonds tying him down to Tony’s bed, helpless to his own arousal. He wonders how long he could keep him like this, tied down in forced pleasure. Tony strokes himself fast and hard, and cums with a moan on, spilling himself on Bucky’s cock. He’s surprised that even that slight stimulation caused Bucky to cry out louder.

Tony switches the toy off after he finishes, and Bucky is full on sobbing. After a brief moment, he manages to stitch together a few words. “Please let me cum, Mr. Stark.” His voice is exhausted. “I’ve been so good, please. I’ll do anything for you, Mr. Stark, please, please, please…” Bucky trails off.

Tony trails a hand through his cum marking Bucky’s body.

“Who do you belong to?”

“You, Mr. Stark.”

Tony grabs Bucky’s cock, and says. “Cum for me.”

He strokes Bucky’s cock and flips the switch on the toy, and Bucky cums in seconds, exploding upwards into his own neck and chest with a barely-there cry. Tony switches the toy off immediately, and works it out of Bucky’s body before he become too sensitive.

Bucky looks up at Tony, face streaked with tears, and Tony can’t help but stroke his hand down his face, curling his palm into Bucky’s cheek. Bucky curves is face into the touch, and gently kisses his palm.

“Come on babe, let’s get you cleaned up.”


	4. Snowblind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re not—wait. A metal dildo? That sounds horrible.” Tony’s holding his shirt in his hands, giving Bucky a bizarre look, the levity of his words not matching the stiffness of his posture.
> 
> “Wasn’t my best idea,” Bucky muses. “Got really cold all the time, plus it was super stiff.”
> 
> “It might have made a good prostate massager.” Tony says. He’s still frozen, his body language tight and confused.
> 
> “That’s a good idea, we should look that up later, yeah?” Bucky stands confidentially, as if he’s not perfectly nude, leaning back against the counter.
> 
> “I—my chest has a nightlight in it and this is what you bring up? Your shitty sex toys?” Tony looks around, like there is an audience witnessing the same thing he was.
> 
> “The dildo did make a good nightlight though!” Bucky remembers fondly. “Where is that thing nowadays?”
> 
> “What the fuck are we talking about?” 
> 
> “Things that aren’t important.” Bucky says easily. He gives Tony a pointed look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome back! The reception to this story is overwhelming. I understand the chapters are a bit long, and it kind of feels like a mini movie each time I write them, but I just can't seem to stop myself from writing until I'm satisfied with the interactions lol. I never realized how nice it is to write about boys having emotions. Kinky, I know.
> 
> If you squint closely enough, you'll start to see some plot looming in the distance.
> 
> Every time someone leaves a comment, I get a little teary, which is gross because I'm supposed to be this like super well put together manager at my job. Don't tell anyone okay
> 
> For those who don't know, Social Security numbers are a way to identify US citizens and anyone that is not a citizen that works in the US

Bucky remembers hearing Rebecca scream, late at night while he was sleeping in her chair. He remembers slamming into her room and seeing her sprawled out over the bed, her sheets twisted in knots, sweat soaking the fabric. Several times she got a punch in, several times she didn’t because she used the wrong arm. Night after night he tried and failed to pull her from her personal hell.

One night, she had woken in the middle of the dream, tangled and drenched. Bucky sits next to her on the bed, tries to reach for her, to be the big brother she needed. But she just stared quietly at the wall across the room, not acknowledging the hand on her good shoulder.

 “They’re already bad, the nightmares.” She says, eyes tracing the shadows of the trees on the wall in front of her, waving in the wind like hands of the dead. “But they’re just dreams. I will wake up and know they are false, because the war is part of my past.” Her voice is barely a whisper, yet it fills up the quiet room ominously, like a ghost speaking a prayer. “But whenever you come to my bedside and speak my name, you become a part of the dream. Suddenly, you’re there too. I can’t ever pull that thought from my head, the sight of you cold and pale and red in that _hell_. _”_ She nearly spat the word. “I can’t get to you, I can’t _save_ you Bucky, and that frightens me more than anything in the world.”

She turns to lock her slate gray eyes with him. “If you care about me at all, you’ll stop trying to wake me up.”

Bucky asks why.

She points at the wall in front of her. “Because the war is out there.” She then turns her arm at the elbow and points at her head. “And the war is also in there.” Her eyes well up with tears. “I beg of you Bucky,” she gestures at the space around them. “ _Please_ don’t let it come in here.”

 

 

Bucky wakes, muddled and confused, in the middle of Tony’s lush bed. He startles into full alertness when he feels a leg kick against his thigh, and blinks as the skin of Tony Stark’s back comes into full view.

“Tony?” He says, and Tony gasps, leg swinging backwards again. Bucky avoids the kick this time, and scoots to the side of the bed, putting as much space between them as he could. He sits up against the headboard, and swallows as he realizes Tony was asleep, wrapped tightly in a dream, making small, strained noises as he clutched his pillow.

Bucky avoids the temptation to try and wake him, because sometimes, if they don’t wake up, they can forget their nightmares in the morning. Tony spasms again and turns his body over sharply, shuddering violently and curling into the pillow. Bucky watches helplessly.

When aliens came down to New York, Bucky was still in DC. He’d only found out when the news was rerunning the footage in the airport on his way back. Superheroes? Aliens? It had looked like a bad joke.

When he’d finally returned, New York had picked itself back up like it always did when the world almost ended but didn’t quite finish the job. Memorials were built, cleanup was scheduled, and Bucky got back to work.

But Tony, Bucky realizes, was actually physically _there_. He was fighting those things that came from the sky. In a _flying suit of armor_. Bucky couldn’t even begin to imagine the mental toll that has on a person.

 “No!” Tony shouts suddenly, shooting upwards into a seated position, breathing heavily in the dark. Bucky flinches.

“…Tony?” Bucky tries.

Tony turns and jabs the palm of his hand towards Bucky face. Bucky squeaks and ducks, belatedly realizing his hand wasn’t near enough to strike.

There’s a stiff silence. Tony’s aiming a weapon he didn’t have to the place where Bucky’s head used to be. Bucky makes a slightly hysterical noise.

Tony’s eyes clear. He curses, puts his hand down. “ _Fuck_ , Bucky. I didn’t. I…” He brings his knees up and presses himself against the headboard. Bucky realizes he’s trying, and failing, to catch his breath. If anything, the speed of his breathing is ratcheting upwards.

Bucky ignores his own rapidly beating heart, and makes a decision. He pulls the blankets away from his body and crawls across the bed towards Tony, carefully sitting cross-legged in front of him. Tony doesn’t seem to realize he’s even there; he’s looking towards the ceiling, chest laboring, likely still lost in the remnants of the dream.

Bucky reaches out and gently places a hand on Tony’s knee.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Tony flinches and gasps. Bucky doesn’t react. His eyes snap to Bucky’s, like he’s seeing him for the first time. “What are you…”

“Tony, you need to breathe.” He says quietly.

“You don’t think I’m trying?!” He gasps out. “God, you, _fuck.”_

“It’s okay Tony, you’re okay.” Bucky tries, but Tony’s eyes glaze over again, and he looks away.

“You’re in Stark Tower, in New York, you’re safe.” Bucky presses. But Tony somewhere deep in his own mind again, and Bucky’s not getting through.

He decides to try a different tactic. He risks shifting forward, sitting so he’s next to Tony, just nearly close enough to touch.

“Tony. _I’m_ okay.”

Tony’s snaps his head toward Bucky so fast it cracks.

“You didn’t hurt me.” He reaches for Tony’s hand, clenched into a ball in the sheets. “See for yourself, come on.”

It takes a second, but Tony’s hand releases its death grip on the sheets, and Bucky guides it towards his face, letting the palm curl around his cheek in what was becoming a very familiar gesture.

“See Tony? I’m here. I’m okay. We’re okay, Tony.” Tony nods, and Bucky hears him shakily pull in a breath, and slowly let it shudder out. His hand squeezes Bucky’s face tightly, a lifeline in the dark.

They stay like this for a while, until long after Tony’s breath returned to normal, long after his hands unclench, long after his legs relax outwards.

Bucky leans into to Tony, questioning, and Tony immediately wraps an arm around his shoulders, letting Bucky relax into his embrace.

“You weren’t supposed to see that.” He sighs, pressing his lips to Bucky’s hair.

Bucky frowns. “You can’t control your nightmares, Tony.”

“Not if I drink first.” He mutters, leaning his head back against the headboard. “You know drunk people don’t dream?”

“That’s not very healthy,” Bucky has to point out.

“You don’t approve of _my_ lifestyle, prostitute?” He says with a little heat. It’s silent for a moment, but Bucky can’t quite suppress the sudden giggle. A moment later Tony let’s out a soft chuckle, and then Bucky snorts, and suddenly their leaning over each other, laughing.

When they wind themselves down, Bucky looks up to see Tony staring down at him, unbelievably open, before reaching forward and wiping away a tear track on Bucky’s face. Bucky didn’t even realize he had laughed himself to tears; he must have been more shaken than he thought.

“You were there.” He murmured. “And just like everyone, I couldn’t…”

“War,” Bucky points towards the window, “happens out there.” He swallows. “But, it’s also stays with us, in there.” He points to Tony’s head.

Tony’s eyes are so intense Bucky can barely stand it, but he finishes. He waves his arm around the room. “You can’t let it get in _here_.”

Tony makes a self-depreciating noise. “I can’t control my nightmares, Bucky.” He echoes Bucky from earlier.

“But you can stop them from controlling you.” Bucky whispers.

Tony huffs out a laugh. “Of course you’d be smart. Of course. Fucking PhD.” He rubs a tired hand across his face. “I’m taking a shower. You want to come?”

It’s about 4 AM, but Bucky was wide awake, so he nods.

Bucky waits for Tony to climb from the bed before following him, keeping his eyes carefully on his form as they walk to the bathroom. The shower is already running, smoke billowing from the glass enclosure.

“Warm water that never runs out. Fantastic, huh?” Tony says.

Bucky grins and starts to strip out of Tony’s bed clothes. When he leans his fingers into his briefs he looks up to see Tony looking at him thoughtfully. Bucky’s about break the tension with a _you see something you like?_ when Tony mutters. “Guess were breaking the rules today,” and takes off his shirt.

Bucky’s breath hitches in his throat when he sees Tony’s chest, sees red scaring surrounding a circle of blue light encased in metal, right in the center.

“Huh.” Bucky says as he pulls his underwear down. He decides to pull the nonchalant card. People have probably been reacting to the sight of the thing in his chest ever since he got it, and Bucky is determined to be the opposite.

Tony looks at him, disbelieving. “‘Huh?’ Really? No fear, no curiosity? No weird, sexual attraction to glowing metal objects? Because believe me, that’s not as fun of a ride as you might think.”

He pretends to think. “I did have this metal dildo once. It had LEDs in the bottom, too.”

“You’re not—wait. A metal dildo? That sounds _horrible_.” Tony’s holding his shirt in his hands, giving Bucky a bizarre look, the levity of his words not matching the stiffness of his posture.

“Wasn’t my best idea,” Bucky muses. “Got really cold all the time, plus it was super stiff.”

“It might have made a good prostate massager.” Tony says. He’s still frozen, his body language tight and confused.

“That’s a good idea, we should look that up later, yeah?” Bucky stands confidentially, as if he’s not perfectly nude, leaning back against the counter.

“I—my chest has a nightlight in it and this is what you bring up? Your shitty sex toys?” Tony looks around, like there is an audience witnessing the same thing he was.

“The dildo did make a good nightlight though!” Bucky remembers fondly. “Where is that thing nowadays?”

“What the _fuck_ are we talking about?”

“Things that aren’t important.” Bucky says easily. He gives Tony a pointed look.

Tony looks at him, unimpressed, before shaking his head. He finally moves, dropping his pants to the ground. He looks at Bucky, and quirks the corner of his mouth. “You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?”

“I’ve been told I have a stubborn mind.” Bucky winks. He heads to the shower and Tony follows.

Bucky doesn’t want to presume anything about their shower, but when they are rubbing the sweat off their bodies with soap, Bucky can’t help but watch the suds trace down Tony’s body, can’t help but marvel at the way his hair looks wet and shiny and beautifully un-styled, and can’t help but remember that he’s a hot-blooded bisexual male. He’s hard in minutes, and hides it in the corner of the large stall, letting the heat of the shower work out the stress he carries in his back.

Tony has of course noticed, and his wet, strong body comes up behind Bucky’s, tucking his head between Bucky’s shoulder and neck, kissing the wet skin softly. He runs a hand around his body, tracing the shape of Bucky’s abs, dipping lightly into his belly button.

“You don’t have to…” Bucky starts. He wants to though, boy does he want to.

“I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to. Not with you.” Tony says, and Bucky thinks those words are more for Tony than they are for him.

The ‘unless you don’t want me to’ goes left unsaid.

Bucky has never felt safer as Tony’s hands come around to lightly stroke at his cock, another digging into the light marks Tony left on his hips last night. He moans, and gasps as the hand not on his cock goes back to run a line between his cheeks to his hole.

“Hairless, huh.” Tony says.

“Mhm” Bucky sighs out, thrusting languidly into Tony’s hand. Tony presses his finger into Bucky’s ass, and with only water to try and ease the way, it burns.

“Ow. Yellow.” Bucky grimaces. “Shower water ain’t lube, sweetheart.”

Tony removes his finger. “Sorry, sorry. That was uncalled for.” Tony kisses his neck. “Come on, come out with me. JARVIS, Water off.”

The stream of water cuts off, and Bucky follows Tony out into the bathroom, billowing with steam. “It’s okay Tony, I know some guys can handle that, but, not me. Now we know.”

Tony nods and throws Bucky a towel, (a _heated_ towel, _fuck yes_ ), wrapping his own around his waist and walking out into the bedroom. Bucky follows him dutifully.

Tony’s reaching to grab new pajamas from the dresser for Bucky and him, and lies them down on the bed. “We can go to bed, if you want.” Tony offers.

But Bucky’s cock is still half-hard, pressed against his towel. He’s also wide awake. “I’m pretty wound up. If you like, I could use some help getting to asleep.” He winks.

Tony hums. “Lie on your back?” He asks more than says, and with the way Tony phrased that as a question instead of as a command, he thinks Tony might need some softcore shit to wind _himself_ down.

Bucky drops his towel and lies on the bed.

“I don’t usually do this, but we’re in new territory here,” Tony says, dropping his towel as well. He’s soft, Bucky notices.

Tony lies between Bucky’s legs and licks up the side of Bucky’s cock.

Bucky moans because _fuck_.

The positions are remnant of last night, Bucky tied down and Tony pleasuring him, but this early morning feels much different. Tony hasn’t been overtly dominant, hasn’t commanded Bucky anywhere, and Bucky hesitates, because he needs to be sure what game they were playing.

“Mr. Stark…?” He asks, questioningly.

“Tony.” Tony corrects.

“Tony,” he breathes back, smiling at the ceiling.

“ _Don’t_ choke me. You can put your hands in my hair, but don’t force me downwards.” He warns.

“Ok Tony.” Bucky says, tasting the name, and Tony nods and sucks Bucky’s cock into his mouth.

Bucky moans, hands instinctively going to Tony’s hair, messing the way the wet strands lay. Tony isn’t as put together as he has been the last time he’s seen him, and he feels like he’s seeing a side of him that many others don’t. All the times before he was all sharp lines and perfect composure, but now, he’s just a man. Just a man trying to please a lover, trying to please _Bucky_.

Tony sucks in long, skilled strokes, twisting his head at the top and gently taking about half of Bucky’s cock. Tony’s hand comes underneath to stroke at the exposed shaft, and Bucky lets out a string of curses at the feeling of Tony’s tongue painting its way up and down in delightful swirls.

Bucky’s just starting the feel the tingles of orgasm when Tony pulls off. Bucky whines, but to his shock, Tony reaches his hands under Bucky’s thighs, pushing his legs back until the tucked against his chest, revealing Bucky’s hole. Tony leans in slowly, carefully, touching with his finger against the most sensitive part of Bucky’s body, taking care not to press in.

Ever since Tony had told him at brunch about his specifications on rimming, Bucky had made sure to rid himself of every hair down there. He’d always kept himself clean as well, paying special attention every time he went to go see Tony.

He can see his discipline had paid off, when Tony makes a satisfied noise, leans in, and licks a long stripe up his ass.

“Oh _fuck!”_ Bucky can’t help but shout, and Tony laughs warmly, breath tickling his hole. He licks again, and several tingles run up his body: one at the sensation, one at the realization he’s being rimmed, and one at the idea that Tony Stark himself is currently the one bobbing his head between his cheeks.

Tony licks again, then alternates between flicking his tongue up and down before tracing the circle of Bucky’s rim. Bucky’s holding his own legs, but takes one of his hands down to pull at his cock, the dual sensations rolling him higher and higher.

Tony starts pressing in the tip of his tongue with every few licks, hands coming to knead and press at the skin of Bucky’s ass. Bucky’s babbling an embarrassing amount, pulling on his cock harder, and let’s his head fall back as he rides the sensation closer and closer, his abdomen tightening.

After one particularly fast serious of flicks, Tony stiffens his tongue and actually starts _fucking his ass_ with it, and Bucky makes an embarrassing noise and cums all over himself before he even realizing he’s doing it.

Tony retreats, wiping at his mouth, and Bucky lets his legs fall back with a sigh, riding out the last waves of pleasure. Tony leaves the bed for a minute and Bucky drifts, letting the residual feelings loosen his muscles. Tony comes back with a wet towel, cleaning up Bucky’s mess, and tosses it somewhere in the room. He’s slipping something around his feet, and Bucky belatedly realizes that Tony’s trying to _dress_ him, and he lets him, slipping the fabric of the sweats up his legs, shuffling into them.

Tony crawls into bed next to him, and tilts Bucky’s head towards him and kisses him, tasting of promises and apologies and spearmint mouthwash. Bucky tries to kiss back, tries to say the words ‘don’t worry about it’ through his movements, but this is a language he’s yet to master.

Tony wraps his hands around Bucky chest and hugs him close. “So good for me,” Tony whispers, and Bucky shudders because though he got off, he hasn’t gone up, or (even worse) crashed down, and this blatant, raw praise was filling him up too quickly.

 _Much_ too quickly.

He wasn’t used to aftercare that wasn’t “after” anything.

Tony tightens his arms around Bucky’s chest, blissfully unaware of the unintentional affect of his words, kissing delicately at his neck. “So good.” He says, before pulling away to roll onto his side, leaving Bucky feeling like he’d been cut open, bleeding.

 

 

 

When Bucky wakes up again, he’s alone. He slips out from underneath the covers and pads to the floor to ceiling windows, where snow was hurtling sideways in a frenzy. He presses his forehead to the glass and shut his eyes.

Tony Stark was sharp and unreal, like someone had retouched the man with an Instagram filter. He commanded a presence, and, despite the show Bucky puts on, they both know every time they get together that Tony’s gonna rip Bucky to shreds, and Bucky was going to let him. The sex was deliberate, creative, every bit the challenge Tony promised, and Bucky spent every single night last week with both his hands down his pants wondering what he would make him do next.

But, and Tony had said it himself, he saw something he wasn’t supposed to see last night. This isn’t the first time Bucky’s woken up next to someone having bad dream, but this is the first time it had shattered someone’s well-kept illusion so hard. Bucky wasn’t paid to help Tony through his anxiety, he wasn’t paid to comfort him when he felt afraid. That was a piece of Bucky himself he had willingly offered up.

The words Sarah said to him after she read through his NDA ring in his head. She warned him to keep his business and personal life separate. But when Bucky saw that man last night, a man that probably saw more horrors that Bucky could ever dream, writhing in bed like Rebecca had, he knew he had to do something.

And, fuck. The thing that Tony fears so much that he has nightmares about is seeing _Bucky_ getting hurt? A man he’d picked up a week ago? Who he more or less pays to be here?

He suddenly remembers Tony’s odd break in character in the limo to brunch. What was it that he said? “ _I’m selfish for wanting this.”_ Bucky squeezes his eyes shut tighter at that because, _shit_. Did he really feel selfish for wanting basic human contact? Bucky’s been playing the game long enough to know most of these people are just lonely, looking for someone who will listen, and Bucky knows how to be that type of guy too and still draw the line in his personal life.

Yet… the way Tony holds him after they have their intense sessions, the way he showers Bucky with praise, the way his voice gets proud and soft and happy when Bucky does something right. Bucky hasn’t had a lot of praise in his life. He hasn’t had a lot of anything really. And something indescribable fills his chest when he looks up at Tony’s soft, brown eyes…

Bucky pulls back from the window harshly. He might be in over his head here.

_“Mr. Barnes.”_

Bucky jumps. “What The Fuck.”

“ _I apologize for startling you, sir. I am JARVIS, the AI that runs the tower.”_

“Oh.” Bucky blinks. “Hi.”

_“Hello, sir. Mr. Stark is currently indisposed, but would like me to inform you that there is food in the kitchen, and you are welcome to make yourself at home in the penthouse suite. He will be with you shortly.”_

“Oh, ok.” Bucky searches all around the room for signs of an AI, a light, speakers, anything. “Where are you?”

“ _I am everywhere, sir.”_

He crosses his arms around himself.

“Thanks, JARVIS.” Bucky says, hoping he will remember him being polite after he goes Skynet.

 

 

 

Bucky Barnes finds a box of Froot Loops wedged between two bottles of whiskey in the back of the bar, and the dishes in the shelf of the wine cabinet.

He walks around the penthouse as he eats, marveling at its size, appreciating the contrast of the always roaring fireplace against the snowstorm raging outside.

He’s searching for a remote to turn on the TV when the elevator makes a noise. He spins, hoping to find Tony, not quite sure what he’s going to say, when out walks a tall, blonde, Adonis of a man. Bucky takes care to workout, but this man could give him a run for his money _._

He looks just as surprised to see Bucky as Bucky is to see him.

Bucky’s nothing but adaptable. He smiles something sweet and smooth and says. “Hi, I’m Bucky.”

He smiles back politely. “Steve Rogers.”

Steve Rogers. _Captain America_.

Bucky has to admit even he’s a little starstruck, and catches himself gaping openly at the man’s back, eyes wide. Luckily, Steve’s not paying him much attention, looking curiously into the fridge instead. Probably giving Bucky the time freak out in moderate privacy.

Bucky hopes Tony’s mentioned him.

“There’s some cereal, if you want.” Bucky offers, collecting himself. “It’s in the, uh, liquor cabinet.”

“Thanks, but I’d probably kill the whole box.” Steve blinks. “Wait, you said the liquor cabinet?”

“Yeah,” Bucky grins, “I think Tony didn’t intend for his bar to become a kitchen. It looks like he’s just been shoving food everywhere.”

“You’d think he’s just put aside a cabinet or two, you know, make a pantry.” Steve’s opening and closing the various cabinets behind the bar, bemused.

“I chalk it up to quirks of a genius.” Bucky shrugs. He goes to the couch and sits down, placing his bowl on the table to the side.

“Hey, so, do all the Avengers live here? You’re the first I’ve run into.” Bucky asks hesitantly. It’s starting to dawn on Bucky the absurdness of his situation. He had just talked to a sentient being in the ceiling, and now he’s eating a bowl of cereal in joggers and a t-shirt in the same room as Captain fucking America, who was fishing out a container of yogurt from the fridge. He was stupid not to think of the implications of staying over at Tony Stark’s tower. Of course Tony wouldn’t have the standard “rich person” staff of maids and butlers Bucky usually negotiates with in morning-after situations, he has actual real life superheroes, because, get this, Tony _is_ a superhero. And after Tony’s nightmare, after his resulting panic attack, Bucky realizes that there are many things he has failed to consider when embarking on this relationship. Which wasn’t— _isn’t_ a relationship.

He’s nervous he has to keep reminding himself that.

“Want to know how many superheroes you’re going to be running into on a daily basis?” Steve smiles a little sideways, a little knowing. It pulls Bucky from his whirling thoughts. Steve continues. “There’s me and a couple others. We live on the floor right below.”

Bucky collects himself for the umpteenth time today and nods. He can do this.

“You wanna cup of coffee? I’m going to make one, as soon as I figure this machine out.” Steve offers.

“Sure thing, do you want any help?”

“Well, coffee isn’t supposed to be hard, but there’s not even buttons on this thing…”

“Oh, I think I know. JARVIS?” He feels like an idiot looking at the ceiling.

“ _Yes, sir.”_

 “How do you… do you run the coffee machine?”

“ _I run everything in the house, Mr. Barnes”_ JARVIS says politely. “ _If you tell me your preference I can serve both you and Captain Rogers.”_

“Cream and sugar?” Bucky asks.

“Black, please.”

“And could you turn on the news too? If you’re not too busy with the coffee…”

The TV flicks on before Bucky even finishes his sentence.

_“I appreciate your concern Mr. Barnes; however, I’m currently only running 193 separate processes, which are distributed over multiple threads. It would take several thousand more for me to be considered ‘busy.’”_

“Good, that’s uh. Good.” Bucky says, bewildered.

“I can rub my stomach and pat my head,” Steve offers.

“ _I’m afraid you’ve got me there, Captain.”_ The coffee machine dings and two mugs appear. Steve grabs them both, then makes his way to the couch, handing Bucky his mug. Steve pauses for a briefest of moments, and Bucky jumps on it.

“Would you like to join me?”

“If you don’t mind the company,” Steve responds, but he’s already moving to sit next to Bucky.

“Good, because I feel like you would appreciate ‘Good Morning America,’ since, you know, it’s your name and all.”

Steve laughs.

 

 

Steve Rogers, as it turns out, was a pretty cool guy.

He’s definitely military, through and through. His words were assured and confident, and he wasn’t afraid to take up space. Bucky got that from the moment he walked in.

But there was something else about him too that wasn’t typical in army men, and it was a healthy dose of humility. He asks a lot questions about the stories on the news, and was curious on Bucky’s opinion, despite that he spent most of his time just listening. He had a surprisingly dry sense of humor, and best of all, didn’t even blink at the news of another US state passing same-sex marriage laws.

The highlight of the morning is when they start talking about the Avengers, showing some footage of the heroes clearing out pieces of what used to be a building in New York, and Steve blushes a brilliant red when a newscaster goes on a tangent about his physique.

“They are pretty great arms,” Bucky comments nonchalantly as she talks about his “rippling biceps.”

“You really think so?” Despite his embarrassment, Steve’s got the hint of a smirk around his lips.

Bucky grins back. “What’s your training program? I’ve never made my biceps ‘ripple’ before. Share the knowledge, Steve.”

“Ah, that’s Top Secret. Though I may make an exception because, well,” he eyes Bucky. “It looks like you’ve got a long way to go.”

“Hey!” Bucky’s surprised into laugher, affronted. “I’ll have you know I work out every damn day.”

“Well let me know when you get off the kids rack, yeah?”

“I can’t believe it. Wait until I tell everyone Captain America is an _asshole_.”

Steve gives him a shit-eating grin. “No one’s gonna believe you.”

Bucky shakes his head, sipping his now cold coffee. “You’re absolutely right, unbelievable.”

They lapse into a simple silence, commercials playing mindlessly on the TV. Bucky looks over at Steve, who’s watching the commercial with as much interest as the news channel, and Bucky marvels again at how things Bucky finds annoying are perceived much differently by Steve.

“My sister was in the army, actually. She loves the whole superhero thing, I think that’s why she got in in the first place.” Bucky says, his tone a little more subdued. Steve looks over, interested. “She enlisted fresh out of high school, made all the way up to Sergeant. I was so proud of her.”

“What happened?” Steve says, and Bucky’s not sure what gave it away.

“She went to war.” Bucky says simply. “Came back on medical, but, well. She didn’t really come back all the way, you know?”

Steve nods. “I saw a lot of men like that.”

“Yeah. She’s doing alright now, at least. Been back for a year and a half? She lost an arm.” Bucky busies himself with another sip of coffee, and when he looks up he’s startled to find Steve’s sitting up, looking at him intently.

“I’m sorry about that Bucky.” Steve sounds genuine, but he’s hesitating, looking like he wants to say something else.

“What’s up?” Bucky says.

“It’s just really interesting you say that. There was a man I met once, he… Do you know if you had any relatives in World War II?” Steve says. His tone is much more intent, more serious, more… disbelieving?

Bucky furrows his brow at the bizarre question. “Rebecca and I were orphans, so I don’t really know, maybe.”

“It’s just,” Steve leans back again, but his eyes are searching his face carefully. “I met a POW once, on a train in the mountains. He looked just like you, like spitting image.” Steve shakes his head. “And I didn’t recall it until now, but when you talked about your sister… I just remembered that he had one arm, too.”

Bucky’s intrigued. “I don’t really know much about my past. Maybe it’s a relative. What was his name?” If it was, Bucky would be excited. He doesn’t know anything about his birth parents. What a twist of fate it would be if Bucky’s conversation with a man born in the 1920’s led to him discovering his long lost grandfather.

Steve sighs. “That’s the problem. He was being held by our enemies, but he managed to escape, hiding away on the same train my team was attacking. He didn’t make it. Fell off after a blast blew open the side. But whatever they were doing to him when they held him… He couldn’t remember anything. His name, where he was from, nothing. All he knew was his serial number—that’s how we knew he was an American, because they tell you to always remember your serial numbers in case you get captured. I never got a chance to look it up.”

“Well, they have registries of World War II veterans online, maybe we can look him up, now. And who knows, maybe he turns out to be family, yeah?” Bucky pulls out his phone. “What’s the number, do you remember? I know it was a few years ago, and in your advanced age memory does tend to fail.” Bucky teases, trying to lighten things up a bit

Steve laughs good-naturedly. “I can’t forget anything with the serum.”

Bucky frowns. “Wow. That’s a blessing, but also probably a curse, yeah?”

Steve looks in Bucky’s eyes for a moment, than lowers them. “It’s hard remembering what happened all the time, especially during the war. But it’s important I do, because it means I have the ability to ensure history doesn’t repeat itself. Nothing humbles you more than seeing the capabilities your enemies have, and it ensures that I myself will remain vigilant in fighting for freedom.”

Bucky stares at him; was this guy even _real?_ “Shit man, now I want to enlist.”

Steve smiles, quirking one of the corners of his mouth.

“What’s that number?” Bucky says, pulling up the notes on his phone.

“3—”

“What’s all this talk on enlisting?” A voice interrupts. Tony Stark saunters in the penthouse, looking delicious in a black and grey compression shirt and black pants, walking with an odd stutter to his step. Tony doesn’t hesitate coming up behind the couch and tilting Bucky’s head back, bending over to give Bucky a deep, thorough kiss that lasts for much longer than it should. Bucky closes his eyes and leans into it, licking against Tony’s tongue and exploring the new angle, and when Tony pulls back he’s smiling like an idiot.

Steve’s looking at the TV with incredible focus.

“Cap, I see you’ve met Bucky.” Tony still has his hands on Bucky’s shoulders gripping tightly, and Bucky realizes, hilariously, this is some sort of possessive display.

“Steve and I are just watching Good Morning America, catching up on the latest news.” Bucky says. Steve looks a little hesitant.

“I bet you are,” Tony mutters, and Bucky turns to Steve. When Steve looks back to Bucky, Bucky shoots his eyes towards Tony and back, and shakes his head. Steve relaxes and smiles back, amused. “Think I’ll go and check out the gym.” He stands up and starts collecting his dishes to put in the sink.

“I’ll talk to you later Steve,” Bucky says, standing up as well and walking over to Tony.

“You’ll talk to him later? Mhm. Okay.”

Bucky traces the shape of his arms in the compression shirt, enjoying the way his body looks through the thin fabric. “Relax, sweetheart. You know you’re the only one for me.” Tony quirks an eyebrow at that, smirking, and Bucky hears the elevator whoosh away. “What, too much?”

“Did you eat my Froot Loops?” They walk over to the bar.

“You said make yourself at home. Why are you walking like that? Did something happen?”

“Ah, no, just got hit in the crotch with a flying piece of metal. My fault, really. I told it to go there. JARVIS? Coffee.”

Bucky mock frowns. “It that a sex thing? I didn’t see that on the list.”

“Bruised balls? No, that is not something I’m interested in. What I am interested in, is what you and Grand Old Flag were doing, looking so chummy on the couch.” He punctuates his words with a few pokes to Bucky’s chest.

Bucky fights a laugh. _Seriously?_

“Eating breakfast and watching the news, I think.” Bucky says, smiling.

“You think?”

“What I can’t have friends?”

“No.” Tony says, but there’s no real heat behind it.

There’s a brief silence, the coffee machine quietly rumbling and the news droning on behind them. Bucky watches Tony as he watches the coffee machine and studies his face. The lines of his goatee are still cut perfectly, but bags were drawn under his eyes, his jaw clenched slightly. The tiredness was etched into every line of his skin. Bucky get’s the feeling he’s, again, seeing something he’s not supposed to.

“Something on my face?” Tony ask mildly. He swipes the mug from the machine and takes a long sip.

“Tony, last night—”

“Sherry cancelled her party today, something about a snowstorm,” Tony says, as if he can’t see the white flurries going on outside the window. “I’m not going to lug my tailor out here either, so you’re off the hook today.” He looks somewhere beyond Bucky. “You should get home before it gets too bad.”

Bucky nods, ignoring the feeling of being shut out. He wasn’t supposed to be ‘in’ in the first place.

Tony turns towards Bucky. “Do you need anything?” He asks, and Bucky can feel himself pretending Tony was asking that because he cared, not because he was trying to hold up his end of their transaction.

He must be taking too long to respond, because Tony reaches in his pocket and pulls out a money clip.

“I promoted my driver to my head of security, and I’m supposed to be across the state in an hour, so I can’t help you get back home.” Tony peels off four, five, six hundred dollar bills off the clip and lays them on the table. Bucky breathe catches, because that’s a third of next month’s rent.

“Tony...” Bucky doesn’t know why he’s protesting. This is who he is. This is what he does.

“It should be enough to get home.” Tony says, and Bucky snorts at the thinly veiled attempt to make seem like less than a transaction. He feels dirty, taking the money.

Tony reaches a hand under Bucky’s chin to press a long, still, closed mouth kiss against his lips. Bucky presses back, firmly. They both pretend that it was enough.

Tony walks him to the elevator as Bucky wraps himself in his coat, toeing on his shoes that were sitting by the elevator door. Tony says his clothes will be sent to him, JARVIS will let him out at the garage, but he should take the service exit if he didn’t want to be hounded by press.

“Oh, and Tony?” Bucky says before the doors shut. “Steve was supposed to send me something, could you have him text me?” Tony makes a face but nods, and Bucky leans back letting the door shut in front of him.

 

 

Bucky comes to a decision, lying on his back on the couch in his apartment, his roommate Sang Ji-Yung (“please call me Julia” she had said quietly), reading a book by the window.

Bucky takes care of people, but he’s also good at making sure he’s not taken advantage of. And Bucky doesn’t know Tony, not really, just the man Tony decides to show him, and Bucky’s okay with that. It was easy to play his role and earn his share and slip out in the early mornings, just like with anyone else that desired his particular set of skills.

But all that changed, last night and this morning, when he realized Tony Stark is a good man.

It’s activated a protective instinct he hadn’t felt since Rebecca, and Bucky knew from then on there would be no way Bucky would _not_ help.

Tony needs to care for someone, but he doesn’t want the responsibility of them caring for him back. And Bucky could do that, he thinks. If that man can help the world, then Bucky can do his part to help him.

He hand crumples around the bills in his pocket, feeling dirty and desperate for taking it. Tony needs this, too, he rationalizes.

His phone buzzes, and he reaches for it automatically.

_“Dear Bucky,_

_“This is Steve Rogers. Hope you got home okay in the snow._

_“I was wondering if you could look up that serial number for me? I’m not quite sure how to do so myself._

_“Thank you,_

_“Steve Rogers.”_

Bucky laughs out loud at the fact he texts like he writes a letter, and texts back, _“Took about twice as long, lol, but that might have just been New York. And sure, no problem, what’s the number?”_

He lays his head back on the couch, drifting, and is thinking about asking to borrow Julia’s Netflix when his phone buzzes again.

“ _32557038\. Thank you again Bucky :-)._ ”

 

His heart stops.

 

That serial number.

 

It was _Rebecca’s_.

 

Bucky stands up sharply, phone clattering to the ground. Julia jumps at the sound.

But that’s not quite right, is it?

They had done away with serial numbers by then. They used social security numbers for ID when Rebecca enlisted. Then why did he think that…?

And that wasn’t Rebecca’s social. It was too short to be anyone’s social security number. But then how did she know this random man’s serial number? Who happened to look like him? Maybe Rebecca found out their grandfather’s number and was saying that? But Bucky was sure it was hers. Maybe she got permission to change her number? But that doesn’t make any sense, yet it _had_ to be hers.

“Are you… okay?”

In her dreams she would say her name and her rank, and would read off the numbers one by one, over and over and over and….

“Bucky?”

Julia’s worried tone, so unlike her, has him snapping to reality. He realizes he’s pulling hard on his hair, breathing coming in pants. “I’m sorry, I…”

He stumbles to the kitchen, suddenly dizzy. “I’ve just got this really, bad headache all of a sudden.” His head feels like it had been split in two. He searches the cabinets for a bottle of ibuprofen.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Bucky?” Julia comes closer to him, speaking almost gently. Bucky hates that she sounds so uncertain, and shakes himself out of it.

“Yeah,” he says, pouring out four pills. “No problem. It’s been a heck of a day. Think I’ll just.” He gestures towards his room and walks in, swallowing the pills one by one as he went, nearly choking one the last one.

Try as he might, he can’t to sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The best part about fanfiction is dramatic irony
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts! 
> 
> Also I am on [tumblr!](http://bourneblack.tumblr.com/) Please join me yelling into the void about how Bucky Barnes deserves better.


	5. Violent Delights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re mine, Bucky.” Tony says low and heavy in Bucky’s ear. Already, this was the most intense he’s ever felt with Tony, and it’s been less than a minute.
> 
> Tony’s not looking for a response, going back to laving at Bucky’s ear, but Bucky’s always been of the mind that if someone wants control of him, they were going to have to fight for it. 
> 
> Bucky licks his lips, moistens his dry throat, and says,
> 
> “Prove it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's early!
> 
> Another week, another chapter! Boy ya'll know this thing called real life? It sure is annoying isn't it?
> 
> I chose not to add the Mandarin to this version of Iron Man 3. I like the way they did it in the movie because it was evident of how America finds it easy to pin the blame on foreigners when the true villains are Wealthy White Men, but I really like the comic version of him and I don't want to use him like that.
> 
> Minor Warnings: Bucky asks Tony to slow down during a scene and Tony doesn't. Bucky doesn't safeword or use a color, and this protest is considered part of the scene, and is also discussed beforehand. Also: Disassociation, subspace.
> 
> For those who don't know: A subspace is another term for the altered perception of reality a sub may experience during a scene. 
> 
> Entering a subspace is a unique experience. A sub can have only one subspace or a hundred. The more intense subspaces are the ones we usually hear about. Generally, subspaces can be categorized into three layers.
> 
> At the top a subspace can be as simple as a roleplay, for example, a scene with humiliation can cause a sub to actually start feeling inferior to a Dom.
> 
> Further down the rabbit hole, a sub can feel like they are in a trance. The world fuzzes out of existence, the only thing they can hear/see/sense is their Dom.
> 
> The deepest and most extreme it can get, a sub can feel like they're 'flying,' entering a state of euphoria that can lead to laughing, crying, and complete loss of perception of reality.
> 
> Consent in subspace is tricky, and it's up to the players to decide when to stop, but it's generally believed that a sub in the lower spaces (flying) are unable to properly consent, and play should be stopped until they return back to their faculties. Some people may stop before then, because some subs can get to a point that they forget that they can safeword, too caught up in the feeling of following their Dom's orders. It depends on the sub and the scene. (You'll see Tony keep polling Bucky for his color)
> 
> Done right, subspace is beautiful, awesome, and a good way to establish trust. 
> 
> Dom's can fall into a Topspace as well, which I know less about, but basically the world narrows to the sub and only the sub. There are different stages of Topspace, some simple roleplays, some complex, like the world narrowing to the sub, feeling extreme need to protect and care for them, a feral type of possessiveness. Once again sub and Topspaces are unique experiences.
> 
> If you have any questions/anything to add, please let me know! 
> 
> Enjoy!

“Open up project: Hawk-ear.”

“ _One of your better project names if I do say so myself, sir.”_

“What’s the status, sassy-pants?”

“ _Printing complete.”_

“No problems? Course not, this is me we’re talking about.”

“ _You are the epitome of ‘problem free,’ sir.”_

“Don’t like that tone J. Where they at? Getting old here.”

Out of the 3D printer to his left pops the cast for Hawkeye’s new hearing aids. Tony grabs them and gets to work setting the circuit. A microphone, a speaker, an amp, and a little bit of genius later and Tony has his brand new prototype Stark Industries hearing aids.

“Beautiful. Tell Pepper I have a new product for her. Let’s call these… Stark Ears.”

“ _Another very good name, sir”_

“Who taught you sarcasm? Fine, we’ll run a focus group. How does the industry test hearing aids before releasing them to the public?”

A screen pulls up some documentation on industry testing standards. Tony frowns.

“JARVIS, why is the screen blurring?”

“ _Perhaps because you haven’t eaten since Mr. Barnes left the premises.”_

Tony looks out the window. The sun was up. “And when was that? Please say today.”

“ _Nearly 32 hours ago.”_ Shit.

“I remember having coffee since then.”

“ _Coffee is not food, sir.”_

“Says who?”

“ _Merriam-Webster defines a food as—”_

“Dear God, stop, now. How did I forget to eat? I’m usually only sleep negligent. Order pizza JARVIS. And for the sake of comradery, ask if anyone else wants something. Let’s work on this ‘team’ thing. Also,” he adds, pointing towards the arm of Mark 42. “Text Bucky. Ask him when he goes on winter break. That’s still a thing, right? Ask him to come over Monday, any time after 4.” The left gauntlet lifts and launches itself towards Tony, smacking against his wrist and wrapping itself around it cleanly.

Fuck, he’s so awesome.

_“Sent, sir.”_

“Any further news on the explosions?” He beckons towards the right. It forms itself on his arm just as perfectly.

“ _None in the major news outlets, and nothing new from any of the intelligence communities Top Secret networks, either.”_ Tony hums.

“Text Happy. Ask him about Maui. And Pepper.” Left leg, this time. It hits his knee a little hard, and Tony grimaces. “Remind me to adjust the angle the left leg approaches, or, hell, to make it modular enough to be able to figure out how to attach itself to my body no matter what my leg position is.”

“ _Noted. Message has been sent. Captain Rogers and Agent Barton have said they would like to eat.”_

“Get their orders. Family dinner in the penthouse. Invite the spider.” Tony summons the right leg. He winces as it hits his knee. “Right leg has the same issue as the left. Also, take note, I look ridiculous without the chest plate.”

“ _Noted. And you could never look ridiculous, sir. Ms. Romanoff is not in the tower.”_

“Thanks Jarv. Where is she? Remind me I need to find a way to summon the chest with it looking like I’m thrusting my boobs like a cheap whore.” He does that, and the chest piece comes to him effortlessly. It’s awkward as fuck to get on, but Tony doesn’t think he can change that.

“ _Noted. Ms. Romanoff is not in the tower.”_

The redundancy in JARVIS’s words implies that Natasha’s told JARVIS not to say.

“Oh Natalie, where have you gone?” Time for the groin plate now. It hovers in the air, menacing.

“Please, baby,” Tony holds his hands up in a placating gesture. “Be gentle with daddy this time.”

It’s not.

He’s on his knees, tears pricking his eyes, cradling his re-bruised balls, when JARVIS says:

“ _Text from Mr. Hogan, sir. He would like to inform you that he loves Maui, and appreciates the promotion, and Ms. Potts is going on a date.”_

“Fuck yeah, she is.” He’s an adult and he’s proud of her, Goddammit. “Ask him with who. And do a full background check. And see if he’s as awesome as me.” _Almost_ an adult.

He works his way back to his feet, and karate chops his shoulder, letting the suit fall to pieces. He sweeps the groin plate from the ground.

“ _Sent, sir. Text from Mr. Barnes, sir. He would be delighted to see you Monday, and would like to inform you PhD’s don’t get things such as holidays, but his last day of formal classes is this Wednesday._ ”

“He’s got that right. How’s his research going? Brain shit, right? Pull up the Mark 42 project, open file ‘cock block.’”

“ _I am, as always, astounded by your naming conventions, sir.”_ A holographic projection of his Mark 42’s groin piece rotates into view, and Tony gets to work adjusting the way the piece approaches his body.

Minutes pass as Tony works, before JARVIS announces the arrival of the pizza. Tony pulls away with a huff, hating the idea of leaving something incomplete. For now he just needs to remember to wear a cup.

He snatches his phone up and makes his way to civilization. He gets a text from Bucky in the elevator.

“ _I’ve been stuck on the same problem for about three or so years, so things are going pretty typical for a post-doc.”_ Tony grins at his phone.  “ _Honestly though, I feel like I’m stuck.”_

Tony frowns at that. He types back: “ _Maybe I can help. Always love a good dissertation. Bounce some ideas off me, among other things,”_ God, he’s smooth as fuck.

Bucky sends back a picture of himself, shirtless and in low riding jeans, ass curved provocatively. “ _What did you have in mind? ;)”_

Tony’s cock twitches in his pants. “Down boy. Later.” He says as the elevator door opens.

“ _You’ll find out soon babe.”_ Tony sends back on his way to the eating area.

Clint and Steve are already sitting at the table, halfway done with one of the four pizza boxes between them, by the time he gets there.

“Beer, Cap? Hawkman?” Tony pops the cap on some ritzy Belgian microbrew that’s only in his house because it’s 9.3% ABV. He takes a long pull. God bless the Belgians.

“Doesn’t do anything for me, you know, the serum and all.” Steve says politely.

“What the hell, I’ll take one.” Clint says.

“Well it’s here if you want to do it for the aesthetic, Cap.” He grabs the six pack and plops it on the table before collapsing into a chair, exhausted. He grabs one of the boxes blindly and cracks it open, and gets to work on eating.

At first, Tony’s too hungry to care that the conversation is wooden and awkward between Cap and Barton, but after he finishes his first slice, he gets to work on making it better.

“So. How’s everyone settling in?” He says after a sip of his beer.

“Great Tony,” Steve says. “Thanks for letting us stay.”

He sidesteps the thank you. “Didn’t really have a choice, but it seems to be working out. Gym good? Getting along with the roommates? No fighting over the thermostat?”

“We’ve worked out a peace. Nat keeps turning it up, and I’m too scared of her to turn it back down,” Clint says. He’s got his tablet propped up against one of the pizza boxes, and is alternating between watching who’s talking and reading what they say.

Steve huffs. “She’s also never here enough to ask.”

“Yeah, where does she go?” Tony thinks out loud.

“Dunno. She’s never really been a ‘superhero’ type. I think she’s trying to wrap her head around that.” Clint offers. “She’s usually either out, or locked in her room.”

Tony shrugs and relaxes, changing the subject to something benign, leading the conversation until it picks itself up organically. He finds himself actually having a decent time, despite the fact that Barton’s still a bit of wild card, and Steve’s still speaking formally, like this was more of a mission report than a conversation between teammates.

It’s later, and Steve’s on his second slice, wait, sorry, second _box_ of pizza, when Steve says, “Bucky seems nice.”

“You met Stark’s boytoy?” Clint leans forward, still nursing his first beer. Nine percent alcohol can rush up on a person. “What’s he like?”

“He’s not my boytoy, for one.” Tony grouses.

“Mhm, sure.”

“He’s a really cool guy.” Steve says. “You guys seem to really care about each other. How long have you two been going steady?”

“We’ve been—stop laughing Barton—It’s actually only been about a week.”

“Really?” Steve’s eyebrows raise. “The way you look at each other, it seems much longer. Sometimes these things happen rather quick, I guess.” Steve smiles hesitantly. “When is he coming by again?”

“Why do you want to know so bad?” Tony says, a little annoyed at the observation, jealousy stabbing his chest.

Steve’s smile drops and he straightens up in his seat. “No need to get defensive, I enjoyed his company, that’s all. Besides, everyone keeps telling me I need to meet people outside of work.” Steve tries to laugh to break the tension, but Tony wasn’t having it.

“Find someone else.” Tony says shortly. The farther Bucky keeps from the rest of the Avengers, the better.

Steve’s starting to glare. “Well that’s up to Bucky to decide if he doesn’t want to talk to me, not you. He has the right to make his own decisions. You don’t control him.”

Tony disguises his laugh at the irony of Steve’s words by taking a long sip of his beer. The alcohol doesn’t feel like nearly enough. “Am I getting a lecture in ethics now? Let me tell you, that won’t get you very far. My last ethics teacher tried to get me suspended from MIT. Admittedly, I’d spent most of class time either drunk or hungover, but when one of the wings of the school is named after your father, you get overlooked for most punishment. I got an A anyway.”

“Weren’t you like, fifteen, man?” Clint chimes in.

“I’m an overachiever.”

“Stop avoiding the point. It’s not right to tell someone what they can and can’t do.” Steve’s openly glaring, and Tony can tell he’s just itching for a fight. He’s got to learn healthier forms of coping, Tony thinks as he finishes off his beer.

“Stop inflating the issue, Rogers. No one’s saying that.” Tony sighs. Kids.

“Then you won’t mind if I text him and talk to him?” Steve challenges.

“Do whatever you want Cap.” He stands up and grabs his box of pizza, stealing two of the four remaining bottles of beer on the table and making his way to the elevator. “Clint, the hearing aids are done. When you finish up, meet me in the shop. Just tell JARVIS, he’ll let you in.”

“This was fun. Same time next week?” He hears Clint say as he leaves.

Tony snorts. “Sure thing.”

 

 

 

Of course Bucky looks up the serial number. It had taken ‘til Monday morning, but he did it.

He wasn’t sure what he thought he’d find when he typed it into the online registry. Maybe a man with his last name, a grandfather or great uncle or something like that. He was giddy at that thought, the thought that maybe he could actually find a piece of their family, something else that read the last name ‘Barnes’

A more ridiculous part of him expected it to be Rebecca herself, which was impossible for so many reasons. The more he thought about it, the more his headache grew.

What he did find, after typing the number and pressing enter, was exactly what he should have expected.

Jack shit.

The screen mocks him with the empty data set, and Bucky felt defeated. He slams his laptop shut and goes to the bathroom and takes his shower. It’s quick, because hot water isn’t allowed in New York unless you were a billionaire, and he’s in and out before it gets too cold.

He stares at himself in the mirror above the sink, the fuzzy reflection of himself in the steam on the glass staring back. He blinks at the mirror. Julia must have been tracing little messages into her own shower steam, and the steam from his shower has brought them back up. Korean characters he doesn't recognize, hearts, a smiley face. It’s fucking adorable.

He dresses and dons his coat. He takes care to wrap his new scarf around his neck too, and heads to campus.

His boots crunch on the salted sidewalks, and he pulls his scarf tighter at the light wind, blowing snow across the open square. Campus itself is quiet, but crowded. All of the students, and some of the teachers, had an air of misery about them. They seemed to be in different stages of the grieving process: Bargaining. Grief. Anger. A community brought together over its shared hatred of all that was final exams. Bucky sighs sadly.

He enters the biotech building, passing a student consoling a girl crying on the bench outside a classroom. He walks down the stairs to the cave where the grad students live. The windowless white walls were lit with old fashioned white LEDs, giving the place a stale, clinical look, like an old hospital.

He turns the corner to a hallway full of offices, footsteps echoing down the hallway. He peaks in the first one; it’s his professor’s. It looks like she’s been there recently, but the office is empty, so he cross the hall and heads to his own office, a shared space that was blissfully empty.

The room itself is homey, if slightly worn. His desk was covered in papers, and he had two monitors squeezed together on the tabletop, which were running on a CPU so ancient the color was 1995 chic, and it stood tall, chugging away on the ground.

He tries to spend the next few hours grading the final papers for the class he TA’s, but he keeps getting distracted by errant thoughts.

Every few minutes he’d find himself daydreaming, but when he shakes himself out of it, he couldn't remember what he was thinking about. The headache was back too, likely brought on by the harsh lighting, but it wasn’t painful. It felt like something was buzzing around his head, making his thoughts seem cloudy and frazzled. Similar to the way you would feel after a concussion.

Rebecca got a concussion once, when she was a teenager. Soccer practice, he thinks. He was so scared he yelled at her for half an hour, and he could remember someone trying to shush him, because you’re not supposed to yell at someone with a head injury. It must have been a while ago, because he remembered that at the time you were supposed to wake them up at night, ask them questions to make sure everything was okay. So he did. He helped wake her every hour, asked her questions to make sure she was okay. What’s your name. He’d asked. What’s your rank, what’s your serial…

“James?”

Bucky starts. His eyes refocus, and he frowns when he realizes he’s been dragging his pen over the paper in front of him, leaving red lines all over the text.

“Maya. Sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.” He carefully covers his scribble with another student’s essay.

“Are you… feeling okay?” She looks concerned.

“I’m fine. A headache, that’s all. No worries.” He smiles assuredly. It really wasn’t that bad. It only seems to bother him when he focuses on it, like the way you don’t recognize the fact a bug’s crawling on your skin until you look at it.

He just has to stop looking at it.

“Let me know if it continues, okay?” Maya says. “How’s it going with my research problem?”

“Stuck, but still working on it.” Bucky says.

“Well, keep at it.” She nods and leaves.

Bucky sighs. One more week until break, at least.

 

 

 

“You look tense, Tony.” Bucky says as he walks into Tony’s bedroom. “And, well, that’s not actually a come on. You really do.”

Tony makes a noncommittal noise from his place on his sitting room couch, where he’s swirling a glass of red in one hand, reading something on a screen floating at his right. He’s wearing the vest of his suit, his tie was loosened, and one button was undone on his shirt. On anyone else it’d be barely casual. On Tony, it looks almost indecent.

But he’s also holding tension in his shoulders, and Bucky can see it as he brings the glass to his lips, sipping slightly longer than socially acceptable. He makes a motion with his wrist, and the hologram shuts off.

Bucky comes up behind Tony. “Long day at work?” Bucky asks, resting his hands on Tony’s shoulders.

Tony looks up, smiles cryptically. “Always. How are you? Still running into that research problem?”

Bucky smiles. “Always. My professor wants results, but I also have to grade all of her undergrad’s papers, and she also wants me to help her with _her_ work too. I’ll be happy when I get to rest over winter break.” He presses his hand into Tony’s shoulders, kneading lightly. Tony makes a noise in the back of his throat.

“That’s how these things go I guess. I’m literally guessing, all of my PhD’s I did on my own. Most were accidents.”

Bucky’s mind is boggling because _how do you accidentally get a PhD?_ He presses into Tony’s shoulders harder, working his thumbs into the meat between the shoulder blades and his spine. He’s muscles are tight, and Bucky marvels at how strong Tony is under his lean frame.

“As good as you are at this, I’m going to have to ask you to stop.” Tony says, regretfully. “Come around front.”

Bucky does, standing in his jeans and sweater in front of Tony. Tony finishes his wine and stands as well, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s lips. It’s slow and easy, and Bucky relaxes, letting Tony take control, feeling already his stress of his research and his headache from the weekend slip from his body. Bucky’s hands wrap around Tony’s defined waist, and Tony embraces Bucky around his chest, licking into Bucky’s mouth possessively.

Bucky moans and Tony breaks the kiss, Bucky leaning in to chase his lips before he can stop himself. Tony grins. “Am I really so irresistible?” Bucky glares at him, which only makes Tony grin wider. “I can feel you in your jeans too. You _want_ me.” Tony’s sporting a smug smile.

No way he’s giving in that easily. Bucky shrugs, smiles under his lashes, and asks, “how’s Steve?”

Tony’s smile drops off his face.

“Why.”

“He texted me last night.” Bucky says, his voice light. “We had a nice, long conversation.”

“Did you.” Tony’s stiff again. Bucky thinks Tony’s a guy that needs to get rid of his stress all at once. He’s going to try and make him snap.

“Oh yeah. He’s really good with his words, Mr. Stark.” Bucky adds the moniker to get try to get Tony to realize he’s playing him. “ _Very_ interested in me.”

(In reality, they had a nice conversation about how much they disliked the cold, and Bucky recommended a coffee shop near the tower that Steve might enjoy. Steve politely thanked him and asked him if he would like to join him sometime. Bucky said yes.)

“You sure this is the game you want to play, Barnes?” Tony’s voice is bordering on actual anger, face drawn tight, and Bucky knows that this is exactly what he needs.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Mr. Stark.” Bucky says. “I’m just talking about how good _Steve_ makes me fee—"

Bucky’s not sure how it happens, but one second, he’s teasing Tony, and the next, his knees have been knocked from under him and he’s collapsed to his knees. Tony leans over him and grabs his hair and pulls so hard that Bucky’s head is forced backwards, so hard that his eyes water in pain.

He whines.

Tony kneels down in front of him, not letting up his grip on Bucky at all. Slowly, carefully, he feels Tony lean inwards until his face is pressed against Bucky’s collarbone, kissing once, before licking a long stripe up the exposed length of Bucky’s neck, all the way to the crest of his chin, the feeling causing his body to wrack with shivers.

He traces the crease of Bucky’s chin and licks up to Bucky’s ear, pressing inside. Bucky squirms feeling, the dual sensation of Tony’s tongue on his ear and the throbbing pain from his hair causing him to feel lightheaded and overwhelmingly hard.

Tony uses his grip on Bucky’s hair to pull his neck to the side in a harsh motion, and Bucky gasps in shock.

“You’re _mine_ , Bucky.” Tony says low and heavy in Bucky’s ear. Already, this was the most intense he’s ever felt with Tony, and it’s been less than a minute.

Tony’s not looking for a response, going back to laving at Bucky’s ear, but Bucky’s always been of the mind that if someone wants control of him, they were going to have to fight for it.

Bucky licks his lips, moistening his dry throat, and says,

“ _Prove it.”_

Tony snaps and full-on bites Bucky’s neck. Bucky swears loudly, eyes falling shut and hips thrusting into the air.

“You’ve been nothing but a brat since you got here, and you need to be punished.” Tony growls, sucking at the bruise he just made.

“ _Yes_ , Mr. Stark,” he moans. Tony releases the grip on Bucky’s hair.

“Bend the fuck over.” Tony demands.

Bucky gets on his hands and knees in a heartbeat, waggling his ass in the air. Tony smacks a hand down on his jeans, the dull feeling more of a promise than anything.

“Take my cock out and do the only thing you do well.”

Bucky unzips Tony and pulls his cock out, mouth watering almost instantly. He pulls the foreskin down and sucks the head in, trying to be a tease, but Tony is Not In The Mood, it seems, and pushes himself deep into Bucky’s mouth. Tony taps his hand against Bucky’s twice before starting a steady pace, fucking into his throat. Bucky moans and adjusts his angle, enjoying the bitter, salty taste of Tony on his tongue.

“Sick of you being a cheeky little slut. Someone needs to put you in your fucking place, and it’s going to be me. You know why?” Tony thrusts his hips down Bucky’s throat until his balls press against Bucky’s chin, and it happens so fast that Bucky actually chokes. Tony moans at the sound, rubbing his balls against Bucky’s face as Bucky drools on the carpet.

“You’re _mine_. You can act like a whore as much as you want to, but at the end of the day, we both know you’re going to always come crawling back to me, on your hands and knees, _begging_ for the feeling of my cock down your throat.” Tony pulls back, and Bucky gets half a breath before he pushes in again. Bucky’s eyes roll back in pleasure, his cock pressing incessantly against his jeans.

“Pull your pants down.” Tony commands, finally pulling back.

Bucky coughs when he’s released, fighting to catch his breath, but he hastily unzips and works his pants down, underwear coming with them.

“Did I say your underwear too? Can’t even follow simple directions, Christ.” Tony slaps Bucky’s ass again, and Bucky thrusts his hips with a moan. _Tony’s really got some anger pent up_ , Bucky thinks in a daze. “You don’t want to get warmed up? Fucking fine.”

Tony falls back to kneel on his heels and manhandles Bucky over his lap, Bucky way too shocked and turned on by the sudden display of strength to resist. It’s a downright humiliating the way they end up, Bucky with his pants at his ankles tossed over Tony’s lap, and Bucky whines and grinds his cock against Tony’s pants, face heating in embarrassment.

Tony rears back and strikes, much harder than before, at the fleshy part of Bucky’s ass. Bucky gasps out in shock. “You think you’re going to get away with being a whore, showing off for anyone and everyone? No. You’re gonna learn who you belong too, no matter how long it takes _._ ”

He gives Bucky one of the most thorough spankings of his life, varying his speed and intensity until Bucky dreads the anticipation between strikes as well as the strikes themselves. Tony’s hands are unpredictable, some open palmed with fingers spread, some sharper and more focused. He is relentless, going back and forth on each cheek, and Bucky’s quickly getting riled up, until the pain of each strike goes straight to his cock, and he’s grinding on Tony’s pants between hits, whimpers, moans, and cries all spilling readily from his throat.

It doesn’t take Bucky long to get close, and he finds himself begging with Tony. “Please, Mr. Stark, I’m sorry, I’m yours, please.” He’s rubbing his cock against Tony’s pants, overcome with pleasure.

Tony suddenly stands back up and takes Bucky’s with him, pressing him to his knees. He positions his hard cock at Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky opens eagerly, letting him thrust at his leisure. Tony let’s out an wild, uninhibited noise, fucking into the heat of Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky becomes overcome with sensation, the feeling of being filled combined with the sudden position change making him giddy with pleasure. His ass was on fire, painted pink from Tony’s hands, and he’s making small, aborted thrusts with his hips, desperately wanting relief, whining in the back of his throat.

Tony pulls away with a gasp, and Bucky drops his head, letting the combination of sensations across his body duel with one another.

He’s so busy catching his breath that it takes a few moments for Bucky to realize that the mood had shifted.

“Mr. Stark…?”

He hears the clink of a buckle, the slide of leather on fabric.

“Can we try something, Bucky?” Tony’s voice is strangely calm as he kneels in front of him. He gently places a hand underneath Bucky’s chin and tilts his face up. Bucky, a little disoriented by the scene shift, looks up at Tony with wide eyes.

“I want to use this on you.” Tony says, holding out his belt. His pupils were dilated and his face pink with effort.

Bucky hesitates and swallows around his dry throat, remembering what Bucky put on the kink chart. _Impact play, 1._

Tony presses his palm to Bucky’s cheek. “Say no, and it doesn’t happen.”

He remembered, and he’s asking if Bucky wants too…

“Let me see it?” Bucky asks.

Tony places the leather strap in Bucky’s hand. It’s brown, maybe an inch and a half wide, and the leather genuine. He weighs it, before sliding his hand across the full length and folding it in half, making a loop with the two ends in his right hand. He rears back and smacks it against his left wrist, once.

It wasn’t excessively painful, and the place he hit left a small, magenta mark, and stung, not unpleasantly. With enough force, this could easily leave welts, but Bucky doubts it will break skin. Not his, anyway. He considers it.

The whole time Bucky has been doing his analysis, Tony has had a hand somewhere on him: on his knee, trailing up his shoulder, scratching through his hair, mindlessly keeping contact. When Bucky looks up at Tony, he sees his face is questioning, and a little worried.

“We don’t have to.” Tony states.

Bucky shakes his head. “I want to.” He says quietly. “And, I don’t want you to go easy on me, either. I’m hesitant because…” He stops, and stares in Tony’s eyes, brown and wide and sincere.  He strengthens his resolve. This is _Tony._

“I’ll likely go into subspace.” Bucky says.

Understanding floods Tony’s face.

“And when I go, I go fast and hard.” Bucky looks into Tony eyes.

Tony nods, stroking a hand down Bucky’s face, but Bucky’s not done; he still needs him to understand. “During, I—I might say no. But that doesn’t mean no. I might ask you to stop; that doesn’t mean stop. Are you okay with that?” Bucky asks.

“Yes, Bucky.”

“But if I say my word…”

“It stops.” Tony says. “One word, and all of this stops.”

Bucky is shocked at how whole-heartedly he believes that.

“I trust you.” Bucky whispers.

Tony moans and kisses him, needy, and Bucky returns it with force. The kiss is intense, yet sloppy with desire, and Tony is leaning further and further into Bucky, running his hands up and down Bucky’s arms, stroking them down his chest, sliding them across his abs. Bucky bites his lip, and Tony growls and retaliates by pinching Bucky’s nipples, causing Bucky to squirm in his grip, gasping. Tony twists and Bucky cries out, head falling backwards. Tony kisses at Bucky’s exposed neck, then bites down on the bruise forming there. Bucky keens and buck his hips into the air.

Tony reaches down to pull at Bucky’s cock, and Bucky cries out. “Please, Mr. Stark, _please_.”

Tony pulls back, panting lightly, stroking long and strong, and says, “please what, Barnes?”

Bucky bites his lip then bows his head, and extends both of his hands outwards between their two bodies, the belt stretched across his palms. “Make me yours, Mr. Stark.” He breathes.

“God _damn,_ you’re so—" Tony cuts off his words, before kissing Bucky once and grabbing the belt.

“Strip. I want you over the side of the couch. Hands behind your back.” Tony says, standing up and pulling Bucky to his feet.

Bucky thrums with excitement as he pulls off his clothes, moving so he gets in position, already sinking back into his sub role. He shivers when Tony trails the leather loop against his back as he walks around Bucky’s body, before he positions himself at Bucky’ back, leather kissing his pink skin. Bucky let’s his head falls forward, resting it against the couch cushion.

Tony taps the leather strap lightly against Bucky’s ass, already sore and warm from the spanking earlier, Bucky shifts slightly, but is otherwise quiet.

The belt is pulled off of Bucky’s skin.

Bucky’s breath catches.

“Color, babe?”

“Green.”

There’s a whistle of displaced air, and Bucky flinches and cries out at a sharp pain blooms against his ass cheek. He squirms instinctively, trying to escape the feeling. Tony strikes again, on the other cheek, and Bucky whimpers and tries to lift up from the couch, hands still clasped firmly behind his back.

Tony growls and forces him back down and strikes twice in quick succession. Bucky’s eyes tear up, the pain overwhelming, his body still trying to get away. Tony presses his hand on the center of Bucky’s back, stilling him.

“You’re doing good baby.” Bucky nods, shivering at the praise, the pleasure of satisfying Mr. Stark mixing deliciously with the burn on his ass.

“Now.” Tony commands. “You’re going to do 20 more. You don’t need to count for me, but you are going to take them. Do you understand?”

Bucky’s voice shakes when he responds. “Yes, Mr. Stark.”

“Good.” Tony removes his hand and gets back into position, somewhere behind Bucky’s back.

“Color?”

“Green.”

A whistle then a smack. Bucky cries out. One.

Another whistle, another smack, on the same cheek. Bucky releases a sob. Two.

The belt cracks down again and Bucky starts to beg. Three. “Please, Mr. Stark, please…”

Another. Another. Another. _Another,_ in quick succession. He’s sobbing in earnest now. “Mr. Stark! _Please_ , it’s…it’s—”

Another. “I _can’t_ …” How many? He’s burning.

Another. “I can’t!” Bucky’s tears are making a wet spot on the cushion.

Another, and Bucky howls. This is too _much_ , too _fast_.

Tony’s voice cuts through everything like a hot knife through butter. “You can. You will.” 

 _Another_. Bucky sobs in earnest. “It’s too much…” Bucky can’t see, he can’t think, he can only feel. Pain, heat, everything else is fuzzy, distant.

“You’re doing amazing babe.” Tony’s voice is the only thing that Bucky can make out. “I know you can do it Bucky.” _Another_. The praise and the pain dance in his skull. Everything feels like it’s on fire.

Tony’s voice. “So _good_ , God, if you could see yourself…” The world has narrowed to Tony. Tony and sweet, sweet agony.

 _Another_. It hurts so _bad_. He can’t hear himself cry anymore.

“Seven more, babe.”

Seven more.

A whistle, a strike. Bucky flinches, then moans around his next sob.

He could do it, for Tony.

A whistle, a strike. Bucky arches his back, crying out into the cushion.

He would do it, for Tony.

A whistle, a strike. Bucky moans again, loud, unashamed, pleasure dancing its way across his whole body.

Tony, who would stop if he said the word.

A whistle, a strike. Bucky cries out, softer this time; the world around him starts to fuzz.

Bucky wouldn’t ever say the word. Bucky would go _forever_ for him.

A whistle, a strike. Mr. Stark. Tony.

“Two more, baby. _God_ you’re so beautiful like this. I know you can do it. I _know_ you can.”

He can. He will.

The next strike is the hardest. The pain is no longer sharp, but present. Warm, inviting, familiar.

One more, even harder, against the other cheek. Bucky smiles through it. _He did it._

Hands now, running up his back and his spine, leaving goosebumps against his over sensitized skin. He feels himself being moved, and he lets it happen. Somehow, he ends up with his head in Tony’s lap, Tony making gentle shushing noises. He realizes he still crying.

He let’s himself, until he doesn’t have to anymore. Until all he feels is pleasure and heat and steady, insistent arousal.

Bucky turns towards Tony’s cock, straining against his pant. He _wants._

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to babe.”

What he wants, more than life itself, is to make Tony feel good.

“Please,” he whispers hoarsely.

“Color?”

“Green.” It’s barely a whisper.

Tony pulls his pants down far enough down to expose his cock, red and leaking. Bucky struggles to his hands and knees and sucks it into his mouth, completely without technique, just moaning abashedly at the feeling of being filled, being useful, being needed.

Tony’s moans are the only thing Bucky can hear. Through the haze, he hears him say, “mine.”

Bucky releases Tony’s cock and kisses his thigh. “Yours.”

It sounds so right that he has to say it again. “Yours.”

He kisses his thigh again. “Yours.”

Tony’s voice is wrecked when he says, “Straddle me.”

Bucky does.

Tony reaches underneath him, two fingers wet with lube press against his hole. “Open up for me baby.”

Bucky does. He hears himself moan from miles away, his body washing between pleasure and pain like waves on a shore.

“Ride me.”

Bucky does. He lifts himself up, Tony’s cock pressing against his hole, and he slides down, gasping as he feels the pressure sing across his prostate, whimpering when his abused skin hits Tony’s thighs. He moves, up and down, the dual sensations mixing together, pleasure and pain.

Tony takes the belt and wraps it around Bucky’s neck. He buckles it in place, loose against his skin. He holds onto it as Bucky bounces, wraps the other hand around his cock. “Mine, mine, mine…”

“Yours, yours, yours.” Bucky agrees absent mindedly. He’s on a beach, lying between the sand and the water, waves lapping at his body. Tony’s calling him from the ocean, saying Bucky, Bucky, oh Bucky, you are so _tight_ , so good for me. Come Bucky, come.

His orgasm shakes through him and his head lolls back, supported only by the collar around his neck and the hand holding it in place. He doesn’t want to move anymore.

Tony pulls him forward, grabs his hips, and starts thrusting into Bucky’s heat, desperately chasing his release. “Fuck, I’m…” Bucky moves to watch his face as he finishes, head tilted back in ecstasy, in euphoria, euphoria that Bucky _put_ there…

Bucky drifts.

 

 

 

Rebecca Barnes always thought she could save the world, Bucky remembers. In the later stages of her recovery, some of that mindset came back to her, a little bit of the original person she used to be. It made Bucky happy to see her with a small smile around her lips, despite the fact she still never liked looking at the arm.

 

One day she had run home, burst into the room, and wrapped her arm around Bucky while he stood in the kitchen. She was so excited. It had been so long since she had been this excited, and he could barely understand a word she was saying.

 

“Rebecca, slow down, what’s going on?” He hadn’t seen her like this in years, and he was taken aback by the force of it all.

 

There’s a man, she’d said, who can help me, she’d said.

 

A program, she’d said.

 

Extremis. She’d said.

 

The program will heal you, he said to me. Will make you strong. Will _grow back your arm._

“Becca, I don’t like the sound of this.” It sounded so far outside the realm of possibility that Bucky was sure it wasn’t going to end well. But he could see by the glint in her eye that her mind was made up. She didn’t care. She couldn’t see what he saw.

 

I’m going to be useful Bucky, she’d said.

 

She had been so _excited_.

 

 

 

Bucky wakes up to Tony’s hands carding through his hair. Well, it wasn’t like Bucky was asleep and he woke up, it was more like Bucky was no longer ‘somewhere else,’ but finally ‘here.’

“I was going to wrap a blanket around you,” Tony says when he notices Bucky’s back to reality. “But your body temperature is really, really warm. Almost feels like you’re running a fever.”

Bucky smiles dreamily. “Yeah, I run hot. It’s good for the winters.”

He sits upwards, still naked as the day he was born, and Tony looks at him, pressing his palm to his cheek. Bucky nuzzles it.

“You look more relaxed.” Bucky says.

“You helped, despite being an ass about the whole Steve thing.” Tony huffs, but there’s no heat behind it.

“I figured you were a guy that needs his buttons pushed.” Bucky grins lazily, still high on feeling.

Tony smiles.

“Can I have some of your joggers?” Bucky asks.

“Another pair?” Tony teases as he gets to his feet. “You have two of mine already, I think.”

Bucky blushes, the blushes harder when he realizes he’s blushing. He’s too vulnerable to hide his emotions right now, and can’t help it when his face twists in shame. When Tony comes back, sweats in tow, his eyes go wide at Bucky’s expression.

“Shit.” Tony says, mostly to himself. Tony makes his way quickly to Bucky, pressing his hands to his face. “Babe. You know I don’t mind.”

“Sorry, its just…” Bucky says. “Fuck. I’m not usually…”

“Never apologize. I’ll buy a hundred pairs of these if you wanted. A _thousand_.” Tony kisses him slowly. “Put these on. Keep them. They’re yours.”

Bucky nods and slips them on, hissing slightly as they go over his sore behind.

“Come here, come on.” Tony beckons, and they end up curled into each other, front to back on the couch. Tony tells JARVIS to turn on the TV. A movie’s playing. Bruce Willis is trying to fight some terrorists in a building in LA.

“So,” Bucky says after a several moments, calm again, resting easy with Tony’s hands running circles into his chest. “How did you get into the BDSM lifestyle?”

“It was a long time ago.” Tony says. “I had just taken over my company, and I’d never had a lick of responsibility before in my life. I had a lot to learn, how to meet people, how to schmooze, how to succeed in the business world. I did it all perfectly, of course.”

Bucky smiles at that.

“Somewhere amongst all the random people I’d been fucking, I realized how good it felt to make others feel good.” He curls his arms tight around Bucky. “And so when business got too busy, and idiots were more idiotic than usual, I’d make my way to a BDSM lounge and find someone to make feel good. It was a power trip, you know?

“Usually never the same person more than once, but… you keep riling me up,” Tony laughs, “and I’m not really looking for a one time anything anymore, and it feels easy to keep doing it with you.”

Blunt, but it makes sense. “I’m glad you picked me.” Bucky says, then blushes again.

Tony kisses the top of his head. “Yeah, me too.”

It’s quiet again. On TV, Bruce Willis is swearing, stepping on broken glass. He has to save the _hostages_.

“What about you?” Tony says.

Bucky smiles at the memory. “Once, in my teens, a girl was riding me, and right before she came she reared back and slapped me across the face as hard as she could.”

Tony laughs, his breath tickling Bucky’s hair. “Seriously?”

“Oh yeah. It was the best orgasm I had ever had.”

Tony laughs harder, chest shaking against his back, and Bucky chuckles too.

“After that, I realized I liked it a little rough. I liked to be told what to do. It made me feel useful, you know?” Bucky falls quiet after that, and the TV buzzes in the background. He closes his eyes and tenses slightly, before relaxing again.

Tony feels it and makes a questioning noise.

“I had a boyfriend for a while. He was… We started in the lifestyle. It was easy in the beginning, like 50-shades right? But he started getting more intense, and while I liked it…” Bucky sighs. “I enjoyed what we were doing, but there were times…” Bucky keeps trailing off, not quite sure how to articulate himself.

Tony kisses him on the top of his head, again. “You don’t need to explain if you want to.”

“See, right there. That’s what makes you different.” Bucky says adamantly. “With him, I felt like sometimes I didn’t have a choice. We’d get involved in a scene and I never was secure in the fact that I would be allowed to stop. And I didn’t ever tell him to stop, but sometimes I thought…” Bucky swallows, and curls himself inwards, just slightly, pressing back into Tony. “I got that feeling that if I safeworded, he’d ignore me.” Bucky says.

Tony squeezes tightly. “What’s his name? Address? What time is he usually home? Asking for a friend.”

Bucky rushes to reassure Tony. “It wasn’t bad. It was just a feeling, you know? I didn’t actually safeword in the scenes, and it’s not like—”

“But you should _never_ feel like you can’t Bucky.” Tony says, and even without looking at him Bucky can tell how strongly he feels. “ _Ever_. You always have a choice.”

Bucky closes his eyes. “You make me feel like I do, Tony.” Bucky says quietly.

“Good. And that will never, ever change. You have a choice.” Tony repeats, and Bucky just has to turn around in his arms, has to press his lips to Tony’s, just has to believe that to be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you! And let me know what you think :) I'm also on [tumblr!](http://bourneblack.tumblr.com)


	6. Phantom Menace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your brain, Mr. Stark.” Bucky starts, “is so big and strong,” he runs a hand through his hair, then tosses his head back and moans. “I just—I can’t handle it anymore! Just take me, Tony! Take me with your massive, whopping intellect.”
> 
> Tony licks his lips. “Not going to lie, I’m like, a quarter chub right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho boy I am tired. This is my first chapter of a fic that doesn't have sex in it, though it does have non-seuxual submission and several sexual themes in it, so I guess you know what's on my mind. 
> 
> it's sex
> 
> This chapter features: Science! Or, comic book science. Things hopefully get a little more clear (or a lot more confusing) about what's going on with Bucky, and it's Tony's turn to freak out about his not-relationship relationship. Also, some Steve feels, a surprise visitor, and Natahsa Romanoff, at last. Avengers bonding! Recreational Drinking! Tony trying to have a heart! 
> 
> Please, enjoy!

“Tony?”

“Hmm.”

“Please don’t actually buy me a thousand pairs of pants.”

Tony heaves a put upon sigh, and Bucky laughs.

Bucky’s headache has almost completely vanished. Bucky couldn’t tell if it was from being with Tony himself or from the intense sexual experience they’d had. If he was telling the truth, it was probably from both. He’s used up all his endorphins from the subspace, and now he’s mellow, thoughts drifting easily instead of swirling like before.

“Also, you know I won’t go after Steve, right?” Bucky says, drinking his glass of orange juice. “Like, I was riling you up earlier, but that’s not what that was.”

“I know.” Tony’s reading a schematic of sorts that had just… appeared on the table. “I don’t like you getting too involved in Avengers business, that’s all. Dangerous.”

“Fair enough.” Bucky says. “But it kinda looks like he’s just searching for a friend, ya know?”

Tony makes a non-committal noise and Bucky drops the topic in exchange for the leftover tikka masala he’d found in the fridge. He looks over curiously at Tony as he eats, watching interestingly as Tony interacted with several small screens embedded into the table in front of him. Frankly, Bucky’s a little awestruck. He has to be able to speed read at some ungodly fast pace, and the keyboard he’s typing on isn’t even in _English_ , just random symbols that Bucky couldn’t even begin to understand.

“It makes it easier to talk to JARVIS.” Tony says, and Bucky starts, embarrassed at being caught out. “Words, letters, they take too long. Each key is a command or subroutine that can work both alone and in tandem.”

Fucking hell. “Can I ask what you’re doing?” Bucky says, before shoveling another bite of food in his mouth.

“Signing a contract for construction on the tower, trying to figure out if I need extra approval for archery at the shooting range I’m building downstairs, investigating a small European firm to see if they would be worth an acquisition, and two other things I probably legally can’t tell you about.” Tony’s frowning at a paragraph of text he has on display now, and after he finishes speaking, he shakes his head and crosses out a line of the paragraph.

If Bucky didn’t know that it was physically impossible to multitask, he would have thought Tony was doing it now. The fact he was thinking so fast he could balance five separate schools of thought at virtually the same time _and_ hold a conversation with Bucky?

“You’re fucking amazing.” Bucky blurts.

“I know, right?”

“I mean, your frontal cortex must be _incredibly_ dense. I wonder how big your parietal lobe is.” Bucky continues. He leans forward and rest his elbows on the table. “Everyone knows Einstein’s was larger than normal and I bet yours is too, though I also think, like Einstein, your brain would be smaller overall than the average person’s in order to facilitate more long connections in the brain to make it easier to switch between tasks.” He feels himself rambling, but Tony’s paused his work, looking at him curiously, so he continues. “And that itself is remarkable because multitasking requires a split of attention between tasks, which lowers your ability to complete each task exponentially with each task you add, yet you do five tasks perfectly!” Bucky stares at Tony’s head like he could look straight through it.

Tony makes a wiping motion with his hand, and all the screens on the table disappear. “Keep going. Please. This is the sexiest line of compliments I’ve ever received.”

Bucky internally snorts. Decides to mess with him. He bites his lip and puts on his sultry face. “Your brain, Mr. Stark.” Bucky starts, “is so _big_ and _strong_ ,” he runs a hand through his hair, then tosses his head back and moans. “I just—I can’t handle it anymore! Just _take me,_ Tony! Take me with your massive, whopping _intellect_.”

Tony licks his lips. “Not going to lie, I’m like, a quarter chub right now.”

If Bucky had the kink list right now, he’d probably put ‘stroking Tony’s ego’ at a 0.

“Well I could keep going if you want. I’ve always got brains on the brain.” Bucky can’t help but smirk at his little joke.

“ _And_ there it goes.” Tony mutters. “Alright, since we’re on the topic,” he leans back and sips some of his tequila, lime, with two rocks. “Tell me about your research, talk dirty to me.”

Seems like Tony remembered that he’s smart, and now wants him to prove it. “Ok.” Fuck, he’s nervous. “Have you heard of phantom pain? Where people with amputations can feel pain in limbs they no longer have? Also called phantom limbs.”

Tony nods.

“My theory,” Bucky feels himself slipping into a lecture mode, “is that brains store an image, or ‘memory’ of the way their body looks. So, if you lose an arm, part of your mind never rationalizes that. Some small part of you is convinced you have both arms and both legs, no matter how long you look down and see it’s not there. So what we have to do is make that part of the brain forget that ‘memory’, and replace it with the ‘memory’ of the person with a prosthetic. Retrain it.”

“How?” Tony says, impatient. He’s leaning back, giving nothing away, impassive in a dark sweater and jeans, scrutinizing Bucky. Bucky feels like he’s applying for a job he doesn’t have the qualifications for.

Bucky clears his throat. “I think the problem lies in the spinal cord. That is what controls the movement of everything in the body, including limbs, whether they are amputated or not. So the fact those motor neurons still fire when someone thinks of moving a limb that’s not there, the brain still, in some way, thinks that the limb still it there.”

Tony doesn’t react, so Bucky plows onwards.

“Here is what I’ve been working on. If we take an MRI of the brain at the exact moment someone thinks about moving their missing limb, we can map the neural structure that lights up in response and store that relationship with the movement on a small device. Then, we can suppress or remove the motor neurons in the spinal cord that would usually control the limb, and instead use this device as a supplement to the spinal cord, to send that same command to the prosthetic. That way, the brain, when it thinks to do an action with the limb, is able to speak directly to the prosthetic the same way it would speak to limb.”

“Bypass the spinal cord entirely, so the brain can activate the prosthetic directly.” Tony scratches his chin. “Okay… But then you run into an issue, because you have to go through the laborious process of getting _every_ neural map the brain puts out for moving a limb, which is virtually infinite. Think about it, people don’t think ‘I want to move my arm 23 degrees,’ they think ‘I want another bite of cake.’ There’s too many possibilities for that to be feasible.”

“That’s where the plasticity comes in!” Bucky jumps up in excitement, and he starts gesturing with his words. “We don’t have to program each and every instance the arm could be used, we only have to reprogram enough of the maps that the brain picks up on the trend, and can start predicting the movements itself. We just build the connection between the brain in the arm and let nature do the rest. Like if you were a baby and you wanted cake, you just kinda swung your arms around until it landed on the cake, right? It’s, theoretically, the same thing.”

“The brain can train itself to use the prosthetic.” Tony says thoughtfully, sipping again, and Bucky feels a little of his tension go. _He’s thinking about it._

“While ‘forgetting’ it had a flesh limb in the first place.” Bucky continues for him.

“Okay, but what if you make a mistake?” Tony thinks out loud. “What if you don’t cut all of the motor neurons out of the spinal cord properly? And the brain still has some memory of what was there before? That’s an incredibly hard task. You’ll still have phantom pain if the brain still thinks the limb is still there, yeah?”

Bucky deflates at that, goes to sit back down. “That’s where the problem is. What I _think_ it going to happen is what I said about plasticity. I think that the brain will eventually see that it controls the prosthetic, not the flesh arm that used to be there. But there’s a chance that it could get much, much worse.

“Do you know how disconcerting it is to think two opposing things about who you are at the same time? Your brain can’t think you have both a flesh limb and a prosthetic. It’s cognitive dissonance. The brain can’t survive in that state, it has to accept one as the truth or it will rip itself apart.” Bucky sighs. “It hasn’t happened yet, but we are hoping that it’s not something to worry about. Just have to take care nothing triggers the old memory.”

Tony leans back in his chair, frowning, but he’s nodding as well, and Bucky holds his breath for his response.

“It’s a good idea,” Tony says, thoughtfully. “Ambitious.”

Bucky lights up.

 _Tony Stark_ likes his project. It’s funny, how Bucky is able to go toe to toe with the elite any day of the week when it came to sex, money, or personality, but when it came to research and intellect? That’s when things felt the most personal.

“You think?” He can’t even disguise his happiness. “Because I think the implications are endless. I’m compiling results from experiments now for my dissertation.” Bucky says.

“I’ll keep your problems in mind.” Tony says, a small smile playing on his face.

 “You’re… this means a lot, Tony.” Bucky has to say.

Tony makes a dismissive noise. “I know, my opinion holds a lot of weight.” He deflects. “Finish your food. You feeling alright? How’s your ass?”

“Sore, but in a good way.” Bucky smiles dreamily. “The memories alone would have been enough, but the actual physical reminder about what happened? Fuck…” He shifts visibly on the hard chair, a small, pleasured noise escaping his noise as it dug in the bruises in just the right way.

“Slut.” Tony says fondly.

“Ay! Takes one to know one.”

Tony grins as he stands up, stretching his arms above his head and cracking a joint or two. “Before you go…” Tony walks around the bar, grabs a full, unopened bottle of whiskey.

“This is the whiskey we had when we first met.” Tony says, and it’s odd, Bucky notices, that Tony’s no longer looking at Bucky in the eye. “You liked it, figured I’d buy it. For you. So.”

Bucky takes the bottle in his hand, marveling at the fact it’s probably worth more than Bucky ever has been or ever will be. “Thank you, Tony,” he says quietly.

“Don’t mention it.” Tony says vaguely.

Bucky falters, wonders if the bottle means something more. It’s likely just wistful thinking, it can’t mean what he wants it to mean, but, fuck, Tony had remembered he liked the bottle and went out of his way to buy it for him, _and_ he had mentioned it was the bottle he bought from when they first met.

In fact all of Tony’s gifts, other than the cash for the ride home, had been personalized. The groceries when he saw Bucky’s fridge, the scarf when he noticed how cold Bucky’s apartment was, the suit after he had wrecked his other one, now this? They are all completely over the top, but this is the first with sentimental value. Could it mean more? Maybe he’s just generous…

Tony’s looking out the window, away from Bucky, expression rapidly closing up.

“Have a glass with me before I go?” Bucky offers.

Tony looks at Bucky and smiles.

 

 

 

Bucky’s words about Steve ring in his head, and after he leaves, Tony finds himself going down to the Avengers floor. It’s dark and lifeless, except for the music playing through the speakers above, somehow doing nothing to move the still air. The sun had set, yet the vestiges light remained, making the room a long, dull, blue.

Tony catches the tune of the song after a moment, slow and jazzy, sounding like it was coming out of a tin can. “Moonlight Serenade.” He breathes out, filled so suddenly with a rich, aching nostalgia of listening to this at Aunt Peggy’s side, stepping on her shoes as a child, trying to learn to dance.

“Didn’t think people still listened to this stuff.” Steve’s voice comes from the window, where he was sitting, staring outside at the city.

“It was a favorite of my godmother’s.” He says quietly. Peggy Carter’s favorite.

“Is there anything you need, Tony?” Steve doesn’t even spare him a glance, voice polite, distant. Maybe it was the melancholic stillness of the room causing a pathetic fallacy, but his voice seems sad too.

Tony doesn’t know what to do with that.

“Bucky is a good guy.” Tony says. _Starting off strong._

Steve nods.

“And he can do whatever he wants.” Tony continues. _So far, so good._

Steve nods.

This is where Tony should apologize.

“So… yeah.” He finishes lamely. _Damn._

Steve sighs. Tony _hates_ it when people sigh. It usually means he needs to fix something, or he’s tried to fix something and completely fucked it up. “He is Tony. And I would never try and take him from you.”

“I know. Just.” Tony steps closer to Steve, forcing Steve to acknowledge his presence. He’s gotta get this out. “He’s innocent in all this, and the more he gets involved with the Avengers, and. With me.” Tony’s chest tightens at his next words. “The more danger he gets put in.” Tony clenches his teeth and tucks his shaking hands underneath his arms.

Steve turns to face him, and reads much too far between the lines. “You shouldn’t feel guilty for wanting love Tony.” He says.

Tony turns around and grits his teeth. That’s not what this is. It’s not even a relationship. It’s nowhere near…

Tony breathes in. Then out.

Fuck this.

“JARVIS, lights.” They turn on, coloring the room with warmth.

“Tony?”

“Steve. This whole sitting in the dark thing? Listening to sad music and staring out the window? Not a good look. Music off, JARVIS.”

“Tony.” Steve’s angry again, and Tony wonders, tiredly, sadly, if that’s the only emotion he’s capable of. “I was listening to that, Tony. And I don’t need you, or anyone else telling me how to spend my time.”

 _Anyone else, huh_. “Is Charlie’s Angel finally here Jarv?”

“ _She is in her room, sir.”_

“Who?” Steve asks, confused and indignant and righteous.

“What about Oliver Queen?” Tony goes to Natasha’s door and knocks.

“Don’t bother her, Tony.” Steve shouts from across the room, but doesn’t move to stop him.

“ _In the gym, sir._ ”

“Tell him to join us when he’s done.” The door cracks open in front of Tony. Natasha gives nothing look.

“What is it, Stark?”

“Family time!” Tony says, clapping his hands. “Let’s say… drinking! If you do it with me, I can convince Pep it’s _not_ alcoholism, but socializing.”

“Tony, I really just want to be left alone.” Steve sighs again, anger dissipating as fast as it came. His eyes are closed, and he’s leaning heavily against the window across the room.

Tony gives Natasha a look. Looks at Steve, back at her. She nods.

Tony turns towards Steve. “It is much better to be lonely with other people that it is to be lonely by yourself. Oh! You’d like Piano Man! We have to play it, there’s a line about loneliness in there.”

“Tony.” Steve growls, but there’s no heat, just exhaustion.

“Come _on_ , Fury says we need team building. Let’s braid each other’s hair and gossip. Do trust falls in a circle, sing some hymns. Yes?”

“I have vodka.” Natasha says thoughtfully.

“Now _that’s_ what I’m talking about.” Tony points to Natasha, then points to Steve. “You in?”

“Maybe just for a bit.” He says, resigned, and fuck, even if it means he’s only agreeing because Tony’s worn him down, a victory is a victory.

“Upstairs, everybody!”

 

 

 

After having found some bags of chips shoved behind the tequila, some baby carrots in the fridge, and a metric ton of alcohol (it’s a _bar_ ), Tony actually thinks the vibe of this thing could graduate from ‘being forced to spend time together with strangers’ to ‘awkward work party.’ He’s already ready to lead a bunch of awkward conversations between the three of them, until Natasha places two large glass bottles of clear liquid on the table.

“Vodka.” Natasha says. The bottles have no label.

“Is this…legal?” Tony asks from behind the bar. He uncorks the closest one, and his face twists. “This smells like paint thinner, Natasha.” He says accusingly.

“‘Tis vodka.” She says in a heavy Russian accent and a small, secretive smile.

“If you say so. What do you usually mix it with? I have orange juice.”

Natasha give Tony a long suffering look before grabbing three glasses from the cabinet, and slams them down on the table. “ _More Vodka_.”

Tony gazes at her in awe. “Where have you been my whole life?” He breathes.

Natasha pours. “First drink is a shot. Cap, front and center.”

“Oh,” He visibly hesitates. “I’m not sure if I…” His body language was less conflicted than his words; he’s leaning over, practically begging for a drink. But consent is verbal thing.

She pushes the glass towards him. “Take it. Don’t. I don’t care.” She lifts her glass, and Tony scrambles for his, sniffing surreptitiously.

“Oh, what the heck.” Steve makes his way to the bar, grabbing the glass in his hand.

 “Are we ready boys?” Natasha has a glint in her eyes.

“To the Avengers.” Steve says diplomatically.

“To this bathtub vodka.” Tony says with a snort.

“ _Vashe zdorovye._ ” Natasha adds. _To your health_.

Tony shoots the vodka, and is delighted to find it goes down smooth. He almost thinks he’s going to survive this until the aftertaste hits and he promptly dies, the alcohol hitting him so hard he lets out a shout, a loud, uninhibited noise, shaking his head like a horse.

Steve’s not fairing much better, looking to the ceiling, eyes watering, likely deep in conversation with God.

Natasha’s eyes are sparkling, and has a light dusting of red on her cheeks.

“Vodka.” She says.

“What…” he’s panting, why is he panting? “Proof is this?”

Natasha shrugs. Pours them refills. “Second one? We drink slowly. Russian tradition.”

“Thanks, Rasputin” Tony says, righting himself. He feels _good_. Awake, wild. He feels the sudden urge to put on a suit and take off into the air, doing loops and shouting out loud.

“I think I could actually get drunk from this.” Steve says as he returns from his spiritual journey. “If I take four or five quickly enough…”

“So you can’t actually get drunk?” Tony asks, taking the second glass and sipping. It really is a smooth vodka. “Buzzed?”

“Can’t get drunk officially. Unofficially, I can get drunk for a few minutes at a time in high doses. We tried once, the commandos.” Steve grinned.

“Tell us about it.” Natasha says, taking a long sip.

Steve smiles shyly, but recounts the story, eyes full of melancholy but also lit up with something new. That’s the point of all this. Overwriting memories, or at least their associations. The more Steve relates his past to his present, the better he’ll be able to move on. It’s not about forgetting the former image of yourself, but reframing the current image of yourself to represent who you are now, as opposed to who you once were. Steve still sees himself as a Howling Commando. He needs to see himself as an Avenger. Tony has Bucky to thank for the idea.

“…anyways. Everyone else ended up passed out, and I had to deal with all the hangovers the next morning.” Steve shakes his head fondly.

“That reminds me of the time we all thought Clint fell asleep at his perch.” Natasha snorts. “He was sitting there for three days, did all his required check ins, but I guess he stopped talking long enough on the third day that Sitwell asked one of us to go in. Turns out, he was taking a shit.”

Steve laughs and blushes at the same time.

“No!” Tony gasps. “Was it you? Did you go in?” Natasha nods sadly, taking a long sip of her drink. “I saw dark things that day.” She says solemnly.

“Oh I bet you did!” Tony laughs. “Was he just? Did he have a bucket or?”

“Hoisted his ass over the side of the building.” Natasha deadpans. Tony can’t breath he’s laughing so hard, and when the elevator dings to reveal Clint, a moment later, Tony has to hold himself up on the bar, tears at the corners of his eyes.

“Penalty shot!” Natasha says with an evil grin, and grabs another glass from the bar, filling it.

 “You took out the good vodka?” Clint rushes in from the elevator, scandalized. “When I had been asking you, for months?”

“Hey, you snooze you lose. Even Cap took a shot. Did you really shit of the side of a building?” Tony says.

Clint glares at Natasha. “Unbelievable.” He mutters. Natasha pushes the glass in Clint’s hand.

“Penalty shot.” Natasha says, still overtly Russian. “If you are late to party, you take penalty shot.”

“I’m not doing this alone. Who’s taking one with me?” Clint grouses.

No one is surprised to see Tony’s hand, but they are all surprised to see Steve’s. He shrugs at their expressions.

“If I’m doing this, I’m doing this right.” He says, determined.

Tony shakes his head and holds up his glass.

“ _Vashe zdorovye!”_

 

 

 

“So.” Clint’s lying on the couch, leg lazily sweeping the floor underneath him. “What brought this on?”

Tony’s currently walking around the room, mentally diagramming a flux capacitor, on his third. Fourth. Glass of Vodka. “Well, I really liked the movie, and the theory of relativity actually…”

“What? Dude no. The drinking shit, you know?” Clint waggles his glass, two and a half in.

“Hm? Oh. Steve.” Tony motions towards Natasha and Steve, who are laughing about something behind the bar. Steve’s been working his way down the bottle quickly, and Natasha is meeting him glass for glass. What a woman.

“Red and white seems to be a little blue lately.” Tony continues.

“Oh yeah, the moping shit.” Clint snorts. “It’s like watching a bad movie.”

“Hey, how are the…” Tony motions towards his ears.

“Fucking awesome man, I’m so glad I can turn them off. I didn’t know Stark Industries made hearing aids though.” Clint says.

Tony’s too drunk not to say. “We didn’t. I invented them, like, a day ago.”

Clint tilts his head up at him in shock. Something forms at his lips that is probably a thank you, or a really? For me? Or some other third thing along those lines. He cuts him off with an excuse to get more vodka. He really just wants to go back to his flux capacitor.

 

 

 

“Where do you go during the day?” Tony asks curiously. “You don’t have to answer—”

“I know.” She says.

“Aww, no more Russian Widow?” Tony Stark does not pout. Ever.

“Vodka isn’t made in a bathtub, Stark.” She smiles.

“You are not answering my question.”

“Take a shot with me and I might?”

“You won’t—ah, what the hell.”

 

 

 

Tony Stark is feeling pretty damn good, music is playing, Steve is laughing with Clint and Natasha, it’s warm and all of his responsibilities and fears were decidedly absent in an alcohol induced haze, when JARVIS says,

“ _Sir, you have a friendly, incoming.”_ It takes a second for the words to hit Tony’s brain, but by the time they do, a loud booms echoes off the balcony outside, blowing snow everywhere. Tony stands up because there’s no way, it couldn’t be—

“Friends! I have returned!” Thor booms, bursting into the penthouse with crackling energy.

“Thor!” Clint cries out, and he gets up from his seat on the bar, stumbling before righting himself. “How the _fuck_ is space?”

“Excellent, from what I could see of it!” Thor grins, making his way to the bar, eying the bottles with interest.

“Welcome back.” Natasha smiles, the only evidence of her intoxication the ever growing red on her cheeks.

Thor hugs Natasha, to her chagrin, and Tony notices she’s a little twitchy after that. They really need to talk about boundaries.

Steve’s grinning at his presence, too far between shots to be buzzed. He shakes his hand. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You as well, brother.” He takes his hand warmly, and Tony grins at the sight of someone dwarfing Captain America.

Thor turns the Tony, and Tony gives him his widest smile. “Come take a shot Thundercat!” Tony waves him into a seat at the bar.

“I see I have picked the perfect time to come visit with my teammates!” He drops his hammer with a ‘thunk’ on one of the chairs, and Tony doesn’t know how it doesn’t break the thing. Fucking magic. “Let us drink!” He takes one whiff of the half empty glass bottle and nods approvingly before, just, drinks it. And drinks. And _drinks_. Holy shit.

“This is a fine brew? Of what of its origins?”

“I made it.” Natasha says, then rolls her eyes at Tony’s look. “Bought it. ‘Legally.’” Tony can hear the air quotes. “It’s called vodka. Made from potatoes.”

Thor takes another swig, and Tony thinks that, oh yeah, this is about to escalate into a full blown party. “This shall do fine! Let us drink! Here, here!”

“Here, here!” The all drink, and Clint starts laughing his ass off at the absurdity of it all, foot hanging off the couch.

 

 

It’s probably three AM, Thor had finished off the entirety of the second bottle, Clint was wasted, even Natasha was starting to show signs of intoxication. Steve was just enjoying the company, sipping his own glass.

Tony gets the idea to play a game.

The answer to his idea was a resounding ‘no.’

“Aww, if we are really having a party, we have to play drinking games!” Tony says. “Truth or Dare? Seven minutes in heaven?”

“How old are you, man?” Clint says, cracking up.

Why don’t they understand! They need to be a team! “We need to be a team! Let’s tell secrets. Ready? I’ll go first. I’m,” Tony swallows. Fuck, everyone know everything about him. “I’m not straight.”

“Tony, you’re quite obviously dating a man.” Steve says with a smile.

“You have found a life partner, Tony Stark? This is a joyous occasion!” Thor pats him hard on the back. “We must drink!”

They all drink various amounts. Someone’s replaced Clint’s glass with water, and he doesn’t seem to notice. “Yes, yes, okay. Who’s next?”

Natasha leans in conspiratorially. “I didn’t buy this vodka.” She says.

The room cracks up.

“Really Romanoff? That’s what you got for me? No, we need something better.” Tony claps his hand. Nothing brings people together like sex, just look at him and Bucky! He needs a version of that. “What’s the kinkiest thing you’ve ever done!”

“What is a kink?” Thor asks.

“Ditto to that,” Steve says. Did they have the word ditto in 1930?

“Did they have the word ditto when you were growing up, Steve?” Tony asks.

“Too niche of a question, plus kink is subjective.” Clint says. “Next.”

“Who would you do?” Tony thinks.

“That’s a disaster waiting to happen.” Steve says, face flushing.

“What if we tell first time stories?”

“Absolutely not.”

“That’s classified.”

“She was my art teacher.”

Everyone freezes and stares at Steve, cradling his drink behind the bar, the other hand across his mouth like he can’t believe he just said that.

“You.” Tony leans in. “Do not get to stop talking.”

Steve makes eye contact with everyone in the room, ending on Thor, who was grinning, standing next to him.

“Thor, can you hand me the bottle, please?” Thor passes it over.

Steve visibly steels himself and takes a long sip, and a full body shiver hits him. When he pulls the bottle from his mouth, he’s swaying dangerously on his feet.

“Careful there Cap,” Natasha says from her seat bar. “I killed a rat with this once.”

“I was nineteen.” Steve starts. “She was twenty-six.”

Tony lets out a low whistle.

“I’m not going to say too much, but.” Steve gets wistful. “She was super smart and, and fierce, and she always liked my work, and she was small too, but still taller than me, but I didn’t care about that. And she was so _nice_ , and she had really nice hair, always done up in these curls, and.” Steve blushes a bright, bright red. “And. She always wore these sheer stockings, with the seam up the back…”

Tony makes a suggestive noise, and Natasha wolf whistles.

 “Shuddup.” He mumbles. “We wore more clothes back then, so you took what you could get. One day.” He rubs his hand down his face. “She asked me to stay after class for a private lesson.”

“Oh I _bet_ she wanted a private lesson.” Natasha grins.

“It was hard to get models back then for the kinda work I liked, so she said she wanted me to draw her, asked me if I could keep a secret. If I, if she. You know. Didn’t wear. Went without.” Steve waves his hand. Tries to hide behind the bottle.

“What, Cap? Without what?” Tony grins.

“Yeah, we don’t know, Rogers.” Natasha adds.

“Without. You are all the worst. Without _clothes_. But she kept on, oh jeez, the _stockings_ , and, and I only got halfway through the painting, before…”

“Before?” Thor goads.

Steve takes another sip of vodka, face scrunching at the taste before saying, embarrassed and proud,

“We, uh. Right there, on her desk.”

“Rogers you _dog_!” Clint grins.

Steve covers his face with his hands. “Three times.”

Everyone went _wild,_ hooting and hollering, and Tony notices triumphantly the way Steve smiled behind his hands.

“Not bad, Steven,” Thor pats Steve on the back, proudly. “Three times is a good way to prove you’re virility!”

“Well, I was new at it, and I just wanted to make sure she… Ah, jeez.” Steve finishes, lamely.

“Such a gentleman,” Tony says, fanning himself.

“Anyways. I nearly had an asthma attack after, but it was worth it. Next?”

Everyone else shook their heads, but Thor, it seems, has no such qualms.

“There’s been so many.” Thor says. “Many times after battle, my fellow warriors and I would lay with on another, as a display of comradery. It easy to lose track.” He chuckles and eats some of the carrots from the bag, not noticing the awkwardness his words had caused.

Everyone is decidedly not looking at each other, other than Thor, who’s grinning to himself. He’s not sure what they were thinking, but Tony is absolutely certain he did not want to ‘lay’ with anyone here.

Except, _purely_ objectively, Thor is a fucking _God_ , he’d be stupid not too, and okay, if he was _really_ thinking about it, at night, in bed, purely objectively, Clint had amazing arms that would look great tied in intricate knots of rope, straining against the tension as he fought against it on his knees, and if they were really getting pure, and really getting objective, Steve had the serum which meant he’d probably last for a while, and if he could do three times as a teenager he could probably do much, much more now and could fuck Bucky until he couldn’t string together two words, and. Purely. Objectively. Natasha would probably look utterly fantastic standing over Bucky in a set of sheer stockings and a whip and nothing el—

 “Anybody want pizza?” Tony says frantically. He’s _officially_ had too much to drink.

There was a chorus of rushed agreements.

 

 

 

The lights are making a buzzing noise, whining and insistent, grinding against his head. He goes to turn them off, but the noise still remains, the back light of his computer shining directly in his eyes. He shuts that off too, the darkness providing little relief.

 

It’s in his office, trying and failing to work on his dissertation, when the hallucination starts.

 

He sees Rebecca, sitting in her chair, her short brown hair sweaty, her slate gray eyes dull, her body still.

 

Bucky stops looking. He drills the heel of his hands into his eyes, like he could reach inside his skull and gouge out the image.

 

“Sometimes, my arm...” He hears her say, and he moves his hands over his ears, willing himself not to hear, not to see.

 

But the voice is inside his head, the image inside his eyelids. _Everywhere_.

 

“Sometimes.” Rebecca whispers to him, voice cracked, monotone, faded, _deep_. “I’ll feel it move, even though it’s gone.”

 

Bucky was gone.

 

“Sometimes.” The voice is like shards of glass, grinding, pressing, slicing. “It’s something else. Something silver. Something that was not my own.”

 

Bucky was not his own.

 

“But sometimes.” The voice soothes. Quiets. Like it’s telling Bucky a great secret. “It feels like you. It has a pulse. It is flesh and blood.”

 

Bucky was flesh and blood.

 

“And sometimes it’s like me.” The voice is weary. “Only an echo. A projection. A phantom.”

 

Bucky is a phantom.

 

 

 

He opens his eyes. He’s standing outside the service entrance to Stark Tower, phone against his ear.

“— _ello? Bucky? You haven’t said a word, I’m starting to get a little worried that you butt dialed me or something.”_

“Tony? I—” Bucky stops. How did he get here?

“ _Bucky? You’re freaking me out with these long pauses. Do you need help?_

Bucky is losing _time_.

“I’m here.” Bucky says.

“ _Okay… you’re a tad early, but no problem, meet me upstairs.”_

“Sure thing, Tony.” The door opens, and he steps in and makes his way to the elevator. He doesn’t know how he got here, but now that he is, he feels he can think much clearer. The last thing he remembers was working in his office. His headache was surging, and he needed to turn off the lights. After that? He’s not sure. He should be more worried about that, he thinks, but all he can think about right now is getting to Tony.

The elevator arrives at the penthouse and Bucky steps inside. Tony’s there waiting for him with a small smile, but immediately upon sight his expression drops.

“Bucky, holy shit, is everything ok? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Tony comes to him.

“Is it alright if I… Can I just…” Bucky makes a frustrated noise. He’s never asked Tony for anything before, and he’s not sure if he’s supposed to, due to their arrangement (which was starting to look less and less like a simple arrangement) but fuck, his head has been getting worse and it’s been getting harder and harder to focus, and he just _needs_.

“What is it, babe?” Tony’s there, voice soft and warm and there.

“Can we just watch a movie? And, if you want, if you’re okay with it, can I kneel at your feet?” Bucky forces out. “I just need to just…” He waves his hand in the air. He hasn’t felt so frazzled in a while, and it’s disconcerting.

Tony is actually taken aback at the request, and Bucky immediately backtracks, shuttering his expression. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.” He scratches his neck.

“Bucky come here.” Bucky couldn’t disobey if he wanted to. He walks to Tony, and Tony presses his palm to his cheek. Bucky closes his eyes at the touch, shuddering out a breath, before turning to grab Tony’s wrist in his hand, kissing the palm.

“What movie?” Tony asks, and Bucky looks at him, disbelieving.

“Action? Comedy? I have literally everything. We can watch a documentary on whales if you like.” Tony guides Bucky towards the couch. “A ‘How It’s Made’ marathon? Anything. Oh, also, have you eaten? I’ve been craving Thai, do you like curry? There’s a place nearby, JARVIS, order my usual, times two.”

“ _Yes, sir_.”

Bucky’s gotta small smile on his face now, and Tony pretends not to notice, instead grabbing at every cushion on the couch, trying to find out which was the softest. He makes an annoyed noise when none seem to do, and says “hold on,” before making his way to the bedroom.

Bucky can’t really seem to move, instead staring at the spot where Tony was sitting before on the couch, head still creasing in pain. It wasn’t like before, but it was still enough to make it difficult for him to focus.

Tony returns, grumbling, holding three separate pillows and the entire comforter of his bed in his hands. “Nothing seems soft enough, but the blanket is really nice, plus the floor is cold because I had to get rid of the last rug due to all the cum stains, but you know what? We’re gonna make it work.” Tony gives Bucky a grin, which fades as he realizes Bucky’s in distress.

“Babe, are you ok?”

“I’ve been having some headaches,” Bucky says simply. “But this, being in my…space. It helps. I can get myself there. I trust you to. See me in it.”

Tony just nods. “Come on, help me do this.”

They end up laying the blanket on the ground, folded twice over, and put one of the three pillows on top. It kept the cold from the hard floor from seeping in, and it was enough cushion not to hurt his knees.

Bucky sinks down on the pillow gratefully, the simple act of the small submission of sitting on his knees already providing some relief. Bucky looks up a Tony, who’s giving Bucky a heavy, layered look, something deep and indiscernible in it, an intensity perhaps, a longing.

He sits down on the couch next to him. “Do you need anything else, babe?” Tony asks. He’s always to good to Bucky, always making sure he has what he needs.

“Sometimes I like being bound and gagged when I do this.” Bucky says quietly. “You don’t have to…”

“Stay here.” Tony says. “Eyes down.”

Bucky snaps into position.

“Good boy.”

He smiles to himself softly.

Bucky let’s himself lose time. When he comes too, it’s to Tony, wrapping a lengths of rope around his body. He moves expertly, methodically wrapping up the length of his arm, around his chest, over his shoulders, and several times around his wrists, until he’s bound tight, arms crossed behind his back, rope wrapped multiple times around his wrist, a steady pressure of the rope wrapped a few time around his biceps, several more working its way around his chest, a heavy knot keeping it all together at the center of his back. He’s wrapped so firmly that any movement causes all the ropes to tighten against his body, reinforcing over and over and over his inability to move.

“Ok, babe?” Tony says.

Bucky nods, almost lost again. It was much more than he was expecting. He usually was bound by his wrists and biceps, and that was enough. This was much more. Much more grounding, much more freeing

“Words, Barnes.”

“Yes, sir.” Bucky says.

“I’m not going to gag you, because I haven’t figured out how you’ll safeword.” Tony says. “We’re going to watch Die Hard. Simply because it was on yesterday and I didn’t get to finish it. When the food get’s here, you’ll eat. You will not speak, until the movie is over. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Stark.” Bucky settles in on his knees and the lights dim. The movie plays.

After a few minutes he starts to try and fidget, pulling against his bonds, testing them. He searches quietly for any sort of give, anyway to free his hands, lift his body up, anything. But the knots hold fast, and eventually he gives up, defeated yet satisfied.

He leans in to Tony’s thigh, letting his eyes glaze over until the food arrives. Tony has to pause and leave for that, and when Tony get’s back Bucky realizes he’s been making quiet, pained noises. Tony comforts him, wraps a palm around his cheek, and Bucky smiles sweet and slow like molasses and honey, thick and lovely.

Tony feeds him until Tony’s satisfied he’s had enough, then they resume the movie. Bucky plays with his bonds again, trying to escape, so much so that he starts to harden between his legs, but eventually the combination of lack of friction and the pulling of the bonds starts to pull him away from the earth.

He gives in to the submission. To the bonds. To Tony. Lazing in the sand, the waves came to take him away, away, away.

 

 

 

At the end of the movie. Bucky leaning into Tony’s leg, head on Tony’s thigh. He’s beautiful like this, and Tony mentally berates himself because he’s started using that word with Bucky and now he can’t seem to stop. But the way Bucky falls into his role like he was made for it was one of the most sublime things Tony’s ever witnessed. Paid or not, he gives up so much of himself to Tony, and all Tony can do is provide an environment for him to do so, and hope that Bucky can take solace in the fact Tony, emotionally, can’t give much back. The innocence and the rawness of his gaze contained a trust that Tony both craves and decidedly does not deserve, the primal need to serve placed on full display for Tony’s eyes only, the explicitness of their sexual actions leading almost paradoxically to a pureness that Tony could never hope to comprehend, and yet yearns for, like the way Tony still looks for things that he should know can’t exist, like unconditional love, or a truly good man.

Tony wants to grab Bucky by the shoulders and turn him around and ask him are you sure, Bucky, that this is where you want to put yourself? This is who you want to trust? _Me_?

But he doesn’t. Because he’s selfish.

And when Tony starts to card his fingers through Bucky’s hair, and Bucky let’s out a little noise of contentedness, Tony just has to hope that he’s enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	7. Fire Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yippie Ki-Yay, motherfucker,” John McClane says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the day delay, I got sick yesterday and was too tired to edit the chapter before posting.
> 
> This chapter is shorter, but it's heavier, and there's a lot going on! Hopefully this reveals a lot too.
> 
> Major Warning: Blink and you miss it suicidal ideation (no suicide). If you want to know more with spoilers, check the end notes..
> 
> Mild Warning: Graphic description of a panic attacks, negative self talk, mild descriptions of violence, inaccurate medical procedures. It sounds a lot worse than it really it.
> 
> I don't own any of the Die Hard movies.

_“Yippie Ki-Yay, motherfucker,”_ John McClane says.

Tony is worried about Bucky.

When Bucky arrived a few hours ago, he was like a ghost; all the blood had been drained from his face. He was looking around the room almost fearfully, hands clenching and relaxing at his sides unconsciously, breathing labored. Even the phone call he had earlier was bizarre: Tony had answered and not heard anything for half a minute, and after Bucky finally responded, it was a whole minute before he spoke again. Clearly something must have spooked him, and Tony’s brain used it’s dense frontal cortex and long connections to spin up likely inaccurate reasons for that, each more convoluted than the last.

He was so worried he reacted poorly to Bucky’s request to kneel at his feet, and he regretted it immediately. Fuck, he _still_ regrets it, because this is the first time Bucky had ever asked something from him, and of course that was when Tony clammed up.

So Tony breathed his way around his panic attack as he started scrounging up pillows from around the penthouse, the only thing keeping him from falling into the usual pit of anxiety was the thought that Bucky needed him to be focused.

And he thinks he’s done a good job, creating an almost nest of pillows for Bucky to rest on, keeping him fed, and providing himself as the rock for Bucky to use as a tether. Bucky’s clearly an experienced sub, and if he knows enough about himself to know when, and how, to go under, then Tony will do what he needs. It’s the least he can offer.

(Other than the money and the lavish gifts, but lately, things haven’t meant very much when it came to Bucky. Nothing he could give would be as good as what he gets back, Tony thinks).

Here and now, and Tony is stroking Bucky’s hair softly, messing up the way the hair falls. He’s probably drifting through subspace, a very shallow level, if the number of times he has to struggle against his bonds was any indication.

Every time Bucky surfaces, he would follow the same routine. First, he moved his head from Tony’s leg, sitting upwards. Then, he would make a frustrated, pained noise, and start pulling against the ropes tying him in place. Eventually, the stillness and the bondage would drag him back under, and he would seek out Tony’s knee or his hand or his thigh.

It’s selfish, but Tony thrives on the feeling he gets from the game they play. The only thing he has to do, the only thing he is _expected_ to do, is care for Bucky. And if Bucks needs him to stay still, he’ll stay still for as long as he needs.

Even through the shitty Die Hard sequels.

At the end credits to Die Hard, Tony asks for a color. It takes minutes for him to get a response, and it’s not until after Tony threatens to move his hand from Bucky’s hair that he gets one. The reply is dripping, soupy and warm. Green.

At the title screen to Die Hard 2, Bucky comes up for the last time, and settles into a tight calm, still clearly struggling with something. Tony thinks wearily that they’re going to have to talk about what’s causing Bucky to be so geared up.

Halfway through the third, and boy that black guy looks a lot like Fury, Bucky leans his whole weight into Tony and lets out a quiet moan. Tony looks down and his breath catches as he observes Bucky, who has finally stopped fighting himself and finally surrendered to the tension of the bonds. The ropes looked like they were _part_ of Bucky now, not like they were holding him back, or tying him down, or keeping him together, but like Bucky has, if only for this brief moment, _become_ bound, and _Christ_ , Tony can’t believe that he’s able to witness something so beautiful.

“Hey, can you give me your color, babe?” Because they’ve never been here before, not even after the spanking, never.

But Bucky doesn’t move, doesn’t react.

JARVIS pauses the movie as Tony goes down to the floor, sitting in front of Bucky on the blanket.

“I need to know your color, beautiful.” He says again. Bucky doesn’t seem to hear him, his eyes distant.

Tony unties one of the knots, and the rope immediately goes loose. It might kill whatever vibe Bucky’s cooked up, but if Bucky won’t give him a color, he’s too far gone to play, and they haven’t talked about this yet.

After the last loosening of a loop around Bucky’s wrist, Bucky actively unclenches his hands and lets them rest in his lap, where Tony notices absently that he’s very hard. He leans into Tony’s chest, bumping, probably painfully against the reactor. Tony winces, but Bucky doesn’t even flinch.

 “I need you to give me a color, baby.” Tony tilts his head upwards and kisses his forehead. Bucky makes a happy noise but still doesn’t respond.

“Please baby?” Tony says. Nothing.

Tony switches tactics.

“Color Bucky. _Now._ ”

“Green.” Bucky responds immediately. His voice is steady and low.

“Good boy.” Tony responds. As a reward, Tony trails a hand down Bucky’s body, down his chest and into his lower body, pressing his hand delicately to his cock.

Bucky moans, leaning further into to Tony as he palms his cock. Tony unzips Bucky’s pants and strokes him slow and sure. Tony shudders; he could feel Bucky’s moans vibrate in his chest, the vibrations echoing into his heart as Bucky gets harder in his palm. When he quickens his pace, Bucky would moan louder and his breathes would come quicker, when Tony slowed, his moans became long and quieter. _Tony_ did that.

Tony’s body rushes with arousal at Bucky’s responses, but he ignores the tightening of his pants in favor of stroking Bucky faster and harder, copious amounts precum slicking the way. Bucky gasps and shakes into his chest, clearly close, but it takes Tony slightly too long to realize what he’s waiting for.

“Cum for me, Bucky.” Tony breathes out.

A few more strokes and Bucky finishes with a sharp exhale and a small cry, releasing in more ways the one into Tony, cum striping Tony’s palm as he leans his body totally into Tony’s, shaking through the waves of orgasm.

The primal part of Tony wants to bend Bucky over right now, finger him and fuck him until he was truly exhausted and cum all over his back, owning him.

But Tony is worried about Bucky.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, babe,” Tony murmurs.

 

 

 

Bucky sit at the table in the penthouse, clutching a glass of chocolate milk in his left hand. Tony had left to put the blankets and pillows back in his room, and Bucky allows himself to wallow in his embarrassment.

“Finish your drink. You certainly look like you need it.” Tony says upon his return.

Bucky swallows and makes eye contact with Tony. “Tony, I’m sorry.” He says.

Tony has the gall to look confused. “About what? Not drinking your milk? That’s really not my issue, that’s more the ‘got milk’ people’s. I’m sure they’d accept your apology.” Tony sits down on the chair next to him.

“You didn’t have to do that for me.” Bucky says quietly. Tony waves him off, like doing nothing with the man you pay to be your boyfriend for five hours was a regular occurrence.

“I’m more concerned about what drove you to be like that in the first place.” Tony says. “You’ve been having headaches.”

“I— yeah. It’s not like they were that bad before,” Bucky says. “But today it was a full blown migraine. Couldn’t even have the lights on in the lab, plus, there’s a ton of work I forgot to do.” Bucky doesn’t mention forgetting about the trip here, he doesn’t want Tony to realize how fucked up he really is. “Anyways, usually if I can get myself into the right headspace, they work themselves out, but lately, they haven’t been.”

Tony frowns, face creased in worry. “Do you have any family history headaches?”

Bucky shrugs. “Don’t know for sure. I was in foster care growing up.” Bucky tosses out. “It’s all better now.”

“Are sure?” Tony leans in. “The way I saw you when you came in, I thought you had seen a ghost. Did something happen? I’m a superhero, remember, I can make people disappear.”

Bucky laughs at that, and notices Tony relax at the noise, as if that was what he was waiting for.

“I don’t think that’s very superhero of you, Tony.” Bucky smiles.

“Cap was always the more wholesome of us.” Tony smiles back. “Drink your milk.”

“Yes, Dad—”

“ _Don’t you dare.”_

Bucky laughs.

They relax some more in the penthouse, Tony making triple sure Bucky was okay before he left to go home for the night. But before Bucky left, Tony stops him at the elevator with an intense look. He takes a deep breath, and Bucky’s is suddenly worried.

“Listen. Do you want to get dinner with me, tomorrow?” Tony asks.

Bucky blinks, because that is not what he’s expecting. Why is Tony acting like this is a big deal? “Sure, what should I wear?”

“Something casual, there’s this place I like to go to that I haven’t been in a while, and it’s really just a diner.” Tony shrugs a shoulder. “I’ll pick you up? Sounds good?” Tony says.

“Ok.” Bucky repeats. Bucky feels like he’s missing something big.

“Good, that’s. That’s good.” Tony says with a smile.

Bucky brushes it off as one of his weird quirks he’s been growing so fond of as of late and kisses him goodbye.

 

 

 

Bucky got to his apartment complex, grinning at the feeling of relief that came from being headache free. He steps into the lobby, even taking the time to great the night cleaning staff on the first floor before stepping into the elevator.

When Bucky reaches his floor, he frowns. Something felt wrong. He walks to his door, and suddenly he’s flooded with adrenaline. The door to his apartment was cracked, looking like it had been busted inwards.

Bucky’s eyes widen. Someone had broken in, shit, shit, _shit_.

Bucky’s hands fumble for his phone in his pocket. He briefly thinks to his wallet, to the card Tony had given him for emergencies, but he decides against it; this isn’t that kind of emergency.

Bucky starts to back out of the hallway as he grabs his phone and dials, nine, one, one.

“ _911, where is your emergency_?”

“811 West 109th St.” Bucky says. “Someone’s broken in to my apartment and I think they’re still here, the door is open, and…”

A high pitch scream pierces the air. _Julia_

Without an ounce of self-preservation, Bucky runs forward and bursts in the apartment. The scene that meets him was like a scene from his most vivid nightmares. On the floor in the living room Julia lay, blood seeping from a wound in her throat. Above her stood a man with a dripping knife, and Bucky takes a step back in fear, ignoring the thin voice on the phone telling him not to enter the premises, sir, police are on their way, you need to get somewhere safe, _now_.

Because the man was on fire.

“What the…”

Bucky was enraptured by him. His skin was glowing, a yellowish orange, almost like fire lived underneath him, in his eyes and his throat. Bucky feels frozen to the spot, watching as the yellowish orange turned into a yellowish white, watching as the man leans his head backwards and opens his mouth towards the ceiling, watching as his skin _erupts_.

Bucky turns to run, but it was already much too late. The world explodes.

 

 

 

Tony’s music shuts off. Tony frowns.

 _“Sir!”_ JARVIS’s tone cuts short any retort Tony may have had. He looks up from where he was reinforcing one of his older suits, Igor, to be able to handle a few more tons of weight.

“JARVIS, what’s wrong?” Tony drops his tools to the ground, already signaling for Mark 42.

“ _I have detected that a call to emergency services has been made from Mr. Barnes’s phone.”_

“Let me hear it. Now.” Tony demands as the suit begins to form around him. He had JARVIS listening on Bucky’s phone from the second he first met him. Tony didn’t hear anything he wasn’t supposed to, it was all JARVIS that monitored outgoing and incoming calls, and ignoring them if they weren’t suspicious or implied dangers. At first it was a countermeasure to make sure Bucky wasn’t trying to get insider information, but Tony also kept it on for safety reasons. He has the same thing built into Pepper’s phone.

Bucky’s voice, panicked but sure, filled the quiet room. “ _…broken in to my apartment and I think they’re still here, the door is open, and…_

A distant scream cuts over the line, and Tony hears a muffled swear and the sound of a door slamming open. Tony curses and waits for the last piece of the suit to slam into him, much too slow, he has to make it go _faster_ , before crashing through one of his windows into the night sky, on his way to Bucky’s address.

JARVIS immediately patches the call through to the suit. “ _Sir! Sir, do **not** enter the premises, sir. Police are on their way and they are trained to handle this situation.”_

Bucky doesn’t answer.

_“I know you are worried about your friend, but you need out and get somewhere safe, now!”_

Bucky’s voice. _“What the…”_ he breathes out, in shock, in fear.

“ _Sir, we need to know what’s going on, are you—”_

Tony sees the explosion before he hears it over the phone, and the line goes dead. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck.”_ Tony pushes the suit, harder, faster, but it’s still a prototype and doesn’t have more than basic flight capability, and it still takes him too long to get there.

Bucky’s apartment building was engulfed in flames, the third floor, _Bucky’s_ floor, decimated. Helplessness stabs his heart and weighs it down to his stomach.

“JARVIS? Life signs. Find them.”

_“There are 33 currently alive in the building, sir. Their locations are displayed on screen.”_

Tony grits his teeth. The firetrucks were still too far out. The rubble from the top floor was going to crash into the second and then the first, and fire burns downwards. It was already covering the third, and most of the life signs were on the first and second. For every instinct that screamed at him to go to find Bucky, another screamed at him to save those he could, that Bucky was likely right next to the explosion, that Bucky was probably, already…

He makes a choice, frustrated tears pricking at the corner of his eyes.

He flies in, starts escorting out those on the first floor. The fire had not affected people as much here, but smoke was starting to fill the rooms and the hallways. “Keep your head down!” He shouts at the people running out of the building quickly, the fire alarms blaring. He hears a dog stuck in an apartment alone, barking at the smell of smoke, and breaks the lock, letting it run free.

Someone grabs the arm of his suit, a pale looking teenage boy. “Please,” His voice is raspy, eyes filled with tears. “My grandmother, she can’t walk, I can’t get her out. Please help me!”

Tony bursts through that door too, seeing an old woman sitting in a chair at the table. “You’re going to be okay,” he says to her, gathering her into his metal arms.

“Johnny? Is that you?” She rambles, and Tony picks her up gently, escorts her outside where a firetruck was finally pulling up, where an ambulance was hurriedly escorting people into the back.

Tony swoops back in. After he clears the first floor he climbs to the second, which was in much worse shape than the first. He curses; fire usually doesn’t burn this fast, or this hot, if the temperature readings on his suit were anything to go by. There were only two life signs left here, and Tony hopes it’s because everyone else managed to escape.

He finds them, two babies crying in their crib, their father dead on the floor in front of them, crushed under a beam. He gently picks one up in each metal hand and they cry harder as he flies them through the back window, flying up and over the fire and back to the ground, where a crowd was rapidly forming. He flags down a paramedic that takes them from him, and flies back in, this time getting the body of the father.

The fire department was rushing in as well, dousing the flames with thick streams of water and exploring the building for life signs, and Tony helped by pulling the rest of the bodies from the rubble and passing them on. Each time he came across another body, he felt a sickening of relief that it wasn’t Bucky, and guilt that he would be so selfish to feel relieved that it wasn’t him.

After the last body is escorted from the premise, and the fire is finally put out, Tony stands outside the apartment complex, staring its charred remains. Bucky wasn’t inside. He wasn’t a dead body. So he was either somehow, impossibly safe, or so completely decimated by the blast that…

Tony’s heart was crusting over like a scab, another scar layered on top of the thousands of others he’d failed in his life. He was so stupid; how could he have been so _stupid_ as to get Bucky involved in his life. That somehow someone wouldn’t target him, because it’s too much a coincidence not to be that way. He should have been more careful, should have dropped him after the first night, because this is what happens when Tony tries to have something good, Tony doesn’t _deserve_ good, too many people get hurt. And Bucky was so good, and he just…and now he’s probably—.

Tony’s breathing labors, his chest feels heavy. He doesn’t even try to inhale, count to 4, exhale count to 8. Doesn’t try to stop the waves of panic from hitting him. Doesn’t stop his hands from shaking, knees from trembling. Let’s his body control him.

 “Tony!” Tony turns sharply to meet the eyes of Steve. He seems to have arrived in a rush, wearing his workout clothes, shield in hand.

“When did you get here?” Tony says through the suit. There was still a lot of hectic energy around, people rushing into ambulances, firefighters entering the building for a final check.

“We heard about you, saving people from the fire. What’s going on, why didn’t you call us?” Steve says. “We could have helped!”

Steve’s mad. He’s always mad. Tony doesn’t want to deal with it.

“I,” Tony’s chest tightens and it’s here, it’s here.

“Oh fuck.” He drops to one knee.

“Tony!” Steve shouts.

“Back up Steve.” Natasha’s voice. She’s here too? When did…

“ _Sir, you are having an anxiety attack_.”

“Am I? Huh.” Tony grits out. Fuck he can’t—he doesn’t have _time_ for this right now. But he’s suffocating, sitting in this useless hunk of metal. He had 42 of these. Forty _fucking_ two, and none of them could save Bucky? None were fast enough? Strong enough? And, _and_ , it’s because of Tony that Bucky needs saving in the first place. God he’s so stupid to think that he could have this, this good thing with him, and the world won’t find a way to bite him the ass for it _._ The suit doesn’t even feel safe anymore, it couldn’t get to Bucky fast enough, what was the fucking point of it? He makes a motion and it falls to pieces around him. He should have made it faster, he should have finished it, and this wouldn’t have happened, fuck, how could he be so _stupid_.

“Tony, we need to know what’s going on.” Natasha says to him carefully, like he’s about to shatter into a million pieces. Tony slips to a seat on the ground. It had never been this bad. Fuck. _Fuck._

Steve crouches down next to him, reaches out carefully.

“Stay back. Stay. That’s—I have to find.” Tony forces out through sheer force of will. “That’s _Bucky’s_ building.”

Steve’s eyes widen in understanding.

“We’ll find him Tony.” Natasha says, and she slips away.

“He’s, there’s no way he’s still…” Tony’s never felt like more of a failure in his life. He wasn’t fast enough before, and now, now he can’t even function enough to find…and this was all his _fault_ , he should have just, fuck, fuck, he can’t breathe

“We’ll find him,” Steve says with an unfounded confidence. Tony drops his face in his hands, and this time when Steve puts a hand on his shoulder, he doesn’t shake it off. His whole body is shaking and he’s breathing like a horse, but he feels disconnected from it all, the world quieting to nothing around him, the stress of the last half hour pulling him apart into pieces, his brain overthinking and under feeling.

“Tony.”

It’s Clint. When did.

“Tony, put your head between your legs.” Clint says softly.

Why couldn’t they just leave him alone to panic in peace? Nobody tells you how exhausting anxiety is. No one talks about how much energy you lose activating your fight or flight response every Goddamn day, how hard it is to run on coffee night after night, to sleep three hours at a time because you can’t wake up for more. No one tells you about forgetting to eat, forgetting what day it is, what time it is, about not maintaining a schedule because you are too afraid to leave the shop because if you could just build a better suit, a _faster_ suit, a stronger suit, then you’d finally be safe, the people you love could finally be safe. No one tells you.

“Tony, listen to my voice, okay?”

But things were almost better, because Bucky was _there,_ and things were going okay, dammit, he was, Bucky was good for him, but Bucky started to feel for him and _care_ for him back, Lord knows how or why, probably the same thing that got Pepper in there in the first place, probably pity. It was easy, so easy to be what Bucky needed, because Tony had all the things he needed, but he had to get stupid and needy and demand more from Bucky. They should’ve just had sex. He should cut him off. Why did he think that this would be different?

“He’s barely responding to us, what do we do?!” Steve says.

“Tony, I need you to focus on me.” Clint says.

Tony is sick of people needing things from him. Because then he provides, and the he gets close, and they get hurt, and he’s so, so tired, and he maybe if he waits long enough, on this shitty New York street, the panic will seize up his whole body and stop his heart and he won’t have to be here anymore, won’t have to do this anymore, and no one else will fucking _die_ because of him.

“ _Sir.”_ The voice sounds tinny from the helmet of the suit, where it lay on the ground in front of him. The suit begins to move, starts to forms around him, his arms first, then his legs, forcing Tony to his feet, forcing everyone else back.

“ _We’re going to take a deep breath, sir.”_

“ _Inhale.”_

_“One,_

_two,_

_three,_

_four.”_

_“Exhale.”_

_“One, two,_

_three, four,_

_five, six,_

_seven, eight.”_

_“Again.”_

 

_“And once more, for me, sir.”_

 

He open his eyes. Steve stares back at him, his face uncharacteristically emotive.

“Tony…” He starts.

“We need to find his family.” Tony says quietly. “He has a sister, but I think he was in foster care growing up.”

“Tony, you don’t—”

“We have to see if there’s anything else of his left in his apartment.” Tony says.

“Let us handles this Tony, you need to—"

“This is what I need to do right now, Rogers.” Tony grinds out.

Steve breaths outwards softly, and his face draws. Not angry. Just, sad. “We don’t know if he’s dead.”

“I heard him call the police Steve, whatever explosion happened, happened right next to him.” Tony sighs. He hates sighing. Sign of failure.

“But there was no body, Tony. No trace of him. You _can’t_ give up hope.” Steve implores.

It’s not possible, Tony thinks, but he stays quiet, completely and utterly exhausted, mentally and physically. “What are we doing about press? Me sitting unresponsive on the ground probably isn’t good publicity.” Tony says.

Steve nods. “Don’t worry about that for now. We should get back to the tower. Natasha, Clint, and I drove here, JARVIS, uh, let us take one of your cars.”

“I’ll meet you guys there. JARVIS, can this thing make it back to the tower?”

“ _Not much farther than that, sir.”_ JARVIS pipes in, no judgement in his voice.

“Right, no stopping for dinner. Captain.” Tony nods quickly at Steve before taking off.

 

 

 

 “Coffee, JARVIS.” He strides into his workshop. “Get someone to patch up the hole in the window.”

“ _Sir, If I may, you have just had an extremely stressful event, and the last time you slept was…”_

 _“_ No you may not, JARVIS. Rhodey talked about the explosions a few days back, they have to somehow be related. Give me all the data you have on the explosions, both public and private networks.” Tony begins the process of, once again, hiding behind his work.

“I’m going to find this son of a bitch.”

 

 

 

 

Bucky comes to with ash on his face, blood on his hands, a piece of wood poking through his stomach, and fire _everywhere._ The world flickers in an out of existence, and for a long, terrifying moment, Bucky believes he’s woken up in hell.

In the distance he hears frantic voices. He tries to call to him, but nothing but blood comes up. Two men find him, wearing heavy yellow suits, maneuver him upwards, and carry him down the hall. He fades out.

 

 

 

When he comes back, he’s in an ambulance, his leg in a splint, a mask on his face. No one is touching him. His back is _on fire_. Again, he fades.

 

 

 

When he comes to his body is open.

_“..body temperature is climbing unnaturally high.”_

“ _Doctor, he’s waking up again!”_

 “ _How the fuck is he waking up?! This is enough anesthesia in him to put down an elephant!”_

_“Well it’s not working! Get more, up the—”_

Bucky hears five gunshots.

He hears something he’s not supposed to remember. He fades, again.

 

 

 

 

 _When Bucky come back, he hears_ Rebecca scream, late at night while he was sleeping in her chair.

 

 

He slams into her room to see her sprawled out over the bed, the sheets twisted in knots, sweat soaking the fabric.

 

 

She was asleep, wrapped tightly in a dream, making small, strained noises as she clutched her pillow.

 

 

Bucky should avoid the temptation to try and wake her, because sometimes, if they don’t wake up, they can forget their nightmares in the morning.

 

 

But she spasms again and turns her body over sharply, shuddering violently and curling into the pillow.

 

 

_And Bucky did not want to watch helplessly anymore._

_He reaches for her, shakes her shoulder. Wake up. Wake **up**._

“No!” She shouts suddenly, shooting upwards into a seated position, breathing heavily in the dark. Bucky flinches.

 

 

Bucky calls to her.

 

 

She turns and jabs the palm of her hand towards Bucky face.

 

 

Everything goes dark.

 

 

 

Voices.

“ _…understand why he didn’t self-report? Aren’t there fail safes to prevent this?”_

There’s a thick strip of fabric covering his eyes.

“ _It doesn’t matter, we’ve got him here now.”_

He can’t move—not like he’s being restrained, rather, like he’s been paralyzed.

“ _Do we know what went wrong?”_

There’s two of them.

_“I’m trying to find out. It’s a fucking mess in here. Let’s try…”_

 

 

 

Bucky’s head hurt. He heard yelling. An older man was telling him to “be more careful Buck! Head injuries are dangerous!”

Bucky was crying, sitting on the ground. He was small. “It ‘as an asident!” His voice was high pitched, unchecked by puberty.

“You’re not supposed to yell at someone with a head injury, George!” A woman scolds. “Go outside and calm down, _now._ ” Bucky sees him stomp away, muttering to himself. She turns towards him.

“Hey baby, how are you feeling?” The woman says to Bucky.

“My hea’, it hur’s. It feel weir’, Ma…” he slurs.

“The doc says you need to answer these questions for me sweetie, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Bucky nods.

“What’s your name?”

Bucky mumbles.

What’s your rank?

“…Ma?”

What’s your serial number.

 

Soldier. Soldier.

 

What’s your serial number?

Bucky Barnes is crouched behind a box. A man is standing over him, speaking to him gently.

“You American? Can you remember? What’s your name?”

I don’t know.

“Don’t suppose you know your rank?”

No.

“Ah, jeez. Serial number?”

three two five five seven zero three eight

 

“ _Found it. See the way his brain lights up?”_

“We’re going to get you out of here, soldier.”

Bucky believed him.

 

“ _You know what you’re going to put in there instead?”_

“Stay behind me!”

Bucky is knocked back as the train explodes outwards.

 

 “ _It’s short notice, but this should work. I’m counting down.”_

“Grab my hand!” The man screams over the sound of the wind.

With what?

 

_“Three._

_Two._

_One.”_

 

Bucky falls _._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony has a panic attack, and during the panic attack he has the thought that he wishes he was dead so he didn't have to deal with it anymore. Sometimes people have these thoughts during attacks, and usually they pass, but sometimes they don't.
> 
> Take care of yourself!


	8. Panicked Fallacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “JARVIS.” Tony says. His tone is a rare, quiet thing. Exposed like a festering wound that never got the chance to heal.
> 
>  
> 
> _“Yes, sir.”_
> 
>  
> 
> “You won’t give up on me, will you?”
> 
>  
> 
> _“Never, sir.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back! A little late cuz I had a busy weekend, and these chapters are getting more and more nuanced. Things get more complicated and simpler at the same time.
> 
> This chapter starts to smell a bit like Iron Man 3, but officially this is more of an Iron Man 3 AU. Either way, some of the lines are from the movie, so I should officially say I don't own Iron Man 3 or any of those particular lines.
> 
> There are a lot of moving parts here, so I keep reading and rereading my own work to make sure every word is perfect, and these last two chapters are going to be the same way, so it may come out a day or so late. I'll do my best!
> 
> Minor Warnings: Caffeine abuse, Hawkeye having a serious moment, a plethora of anxiety.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Alright JARVIS,” Tony says. “Do your thing.” He drains his mug of coffee, the second 16 ounce monstrosity he’s had since he’d arrived 15 minutes ago. His foot is tapping rhythmically on the floor, eyes drawn with desperation, determination.

JARVIS is taking all of the data Tony legally (or whatever) acquired from the FBI, CIA, and SHIELD networks and is running several in depth data analysis algorithms on it to come up with useful trends, and then cross-referencing those trends with the data again to create even _more_ trends, and displaying the result in several blue graphs on Tony’s largest workshop screen.

“‘ _My thing’ is commencing, sir. Estimated completion time, two minutes.”_

“Perfect, JARVIS, fire up the coffee maker again.” Tony says, spinning in his seat and rolling to the machine. He taps his fingers impatiently on the table in front of him.

“ _Sir, once again, I must advise you that you have just had a panic attack, and the addition of caffeine—”_

“I know what I’m doing JARVIS, make my Goddamn coffee.” Tony snaps. He’s not in the mood for any of that self-care bullshit he programmed into JARVIS in his sober days. Things were different now.

Except they weren’t, Tony thinks as the cup begins to fill again. He’s got so much innocent blood on his hands. He took his weapons away from his enemies, sure, but he kept the most powerful ones for himself. Sometimes Tony arrogance amazes even himself.

Stark men are made of iron, but this isn’t the Iron Age anymore. The world is moving faster and faster, there are people out there who are capable of things he can’t even _begin_ to think about, who is he to think that he could keep up? His hands could build and build, but someone else will always be faster, better, stronger. He should just—

The coffee is hot enough to burn, but he doesn’t care. He drains half of it. Doesn’t taste it. Ruins his throat with it.

He’s got _work_ to do.

“ _Complete, sir.”_ JARVIS says, tiredly. Tony hasn’t programmed him to speak in a disappointed manner—he gets too much of that from everyone else—so ‘tired’ is the closest he can get.

The largest screen in the workshop lights up with data. “That’s some sexy shit right there.” Tony rasps, throat ripped raw from the heat of the coffee.

“ _Analysis has shown all of the explosions that the US Government has recognized are of uncommonly high heat, in excess of 3000 C.”_

“Explains the high temperature of the fire in the building.” Tony muses. “Show me where they occurred.”

A map comes to the forefront of the screen, showing several explosions across America, all at nearly the same temperature.

“And none of them left behind forensic evidence?” The caffeine is kicking in full force, and Tony feels his hands start to shake. He places his mug down so he doesn’t spill.

_“Any subjects within 12.5 yards were of each explosion were vaporized instantly, leaving a black, human-like imprint behind of those incinerated by the blast.”_

Tony visibly flinches at that.

“I’m going to have to go see his crime scene at some point.” Tony says with a shake. “And no bomb parts found?”

“ _No, sir.”_

“When is a bomb not a bomb…” Tony thinks out loud, taking another punishing sip of coffee; his leg was bouncing rhythmically underneath the table.

“ _I have taken the liberty of pulling up the thermogenic signatures of the earth for the last 12 months, and have cross-referenced that with explosions of over 3000 degrees.”_

“Pull it up, and factor out anywhere there’s been a documented explosion.” Tony says.

Most of the heat signatures were pulled off the map, leaving a few sparsely populated ones. “When’s the earliest? Tennessee?”

“ _Yes, sir. It was classified as a bomb assisted suicide, predating another other explosion by 12 months.”_

“Mark that one down.” Tony finishes his coffee. “Another coffee.”

“ _Preparing a flight plan. And sir, you are all out.”_

Tony groans and pushes himself up. “Why haven’t I invented a reusable coffee bean, J?”

“ _It’s on your list, under ‘getting enough sleep’ and ‘becoming sober,’ sir.’”_ JARVIS deadpans.

“Well push it above those two, I want it in order of the likelihood of it actually happening.” He snarks back. “I’m going upstairs, if I’m going to figure this thing out, I need coffee.”

“ _May I suggest decaf?”_

“Who taught you that word?” Tony admonishes, as he exits to the elevator. “Was it DUM-E? Kids and their language nowadays.”

In the elevator, with no one to talk to, Tony has no choice but to recognize how bad his shakes were getting. His heart is pounding faster than the first (and last) time he tried cocaine, but he’s going to continue to pretend that drinking a legal drug like caffeine is somehow less dangerous than anything on the street. Panicked energy is still energy, and despite the fact that overclocking himself like this is probably ruining his body, at least he’s channeling his perpetual anxiety into something useful.

It was almost like a twisted kinda “fuck you” to himself. A little way of gaining back some control. _You don’t tell me when to panic. I’ll do panic all by myself._

He exits in the penthouse, telling JARVIS to start the coffee machine, and he waits as precious seconds tick by, trying not to hunch in on himself. Knowing himself and his tolerances, this is the mug where he’s at risk of an overdose. Despite everything he’s capable of, he does not want to make it harder by experiences caffeine induced hallucinations again, so he probably should take this one slower.

He’s going to shit like a runaway train though, that’s for sure.

Also. “Were the fuck is Thor?”

“ _He left for Dr. Foster’s yesterday morning. All attempts to contact him have failed.”_

“Didn’t I give him a cell phone?” Tony mutters. The coffee machines shudders to a stop, and Tony reaches eagerly for his next mug of castigation.

“ _I believe his electrical properties have ‘fried’ it, sir."_

 “Fuck.” Tony mutters, taking a slow sip. “I’ll have to… I’ll have to fix that…” He can barely even taste the coffee anymore. He curses when he starts to shake so hard the mug falls from his grasp and shatters into pieces on the floor of the bar. He sinks to his knees, but knows better than to try and pick up the sharp pieces in this state, instead just watching as the brown puddle expands on the floor.

Tony knows he’s avoiding his feelings. Contrary to popular belief, he’s acutely aware of his bleeding heart. He also knows if he takes the time to grieve like he needs to, that’s more time whoever did this gets away with it. He can’t afford to come down right now, because if he does, there’s no telling how long it will be until he comes back up.

All he wants to do is curl in himself and cry, to wallow and feel and lament. But that’s not how the world works. That’s not what people like Tony get to do. Tony has to move, he gave himself the responsibly to save the world and now he has to come through.

He struggles to his feet but leaves his hands on his knees, shuts his eyes. His sucks in a shaky breath and counts to four, and exhales and counts the eight, the way Jarvis taught him as a boy when Tony learned, over and over, night after night, sobbing away in his room, that he’d never be good enough for his father.

“And one more, for me, sir.” He would say.

“JARVIS.” Tony says. His tone is a rare, quiet thing. Exposed like a festering wound that never got the chance to heal.

“ _Yes, sir.”_

“You won’t give up on me, will you?”

_“Never, sir.”_

Tony stands up an heaves in a breath, and notices his vision is slightly blurred. “Alright. Alright. Maybe that’s enough coffee.”

_“An astute observation, sir.”_

The elevator door opens, and he blinks as he comes face to face with three of the Avengers, Steve in the front, and Clint and Natasha speaking quietly and rapidly to each other.

“Why, hello.” Tony says. The stop short at the look of him, the coffee mug on the ground in pieces, his whole body shaking like a leaf. Steve has his jaw set, like he really wants to say something but was told not to. Natasha betrays absolutely nothing, but Clint… Clint’s looking at him like he’s seen him for the first time. Softly, but without pity. Tony remembers he’s the one that talked to him during the attack. He wonders if Clint deals with this too, or has dealt with it. Or wonders if he’s just shocked at the realization that Tony Stark is a human being too.

 He turns to face the group, ready to face the music, ready to lie about his mental state and deflect so hard they are forced to leave him alone.

None of that happens.

“I’ve been calling all the local hospitals, places where the other victims got sent, but there’s no sign of him.” Natasha says to him bluntly, standing behind the bar.

Tony swallows hard. “He must have been too close to the blast. Victims that close are incinerated, leave behind a black shadow.”

“A shadow? Like what?” Clint says, leaning in on the counter. Tony’s never seen him this focused on something before.

“Like, J, bring up the pictures from the other crime scenes.”

“Other scenes?” Steve says, carefully, like he’s forcibly holding down the lid on his anger at the situation for Tony’s sake. Tony remembers that Bucky and him were starting to become friends.

“I’ll—” Tony blinks. No one made a comment on his mental state, on the broken glass and coffee puddle on the ground. “I’ll fill you in on what I know. JARVIS, bring all the data up here, on the table.”

He motions them over to the table which lights up from the data downstairs, and they crowd around it as Tony explains to them what he’s seen already, pretending the fact his body is still shaking is due to anxiety, not because he’s high.

Once he gets them up to speed on everything he knows, Steve steps in.

“Tony, you said you had the 911 call Bucky made?”

Tony nods. “I can play it. JARVIS?”

“ _Playing now.”_

Bucky’s panicked voice comes over the tables speakers and Tony shuts his eyes tightly as he listens to him speak, listens to him run in to help his friend, listen for the brief, cut-off sound of the explosion before the line goes dead.

When he opens, Steve looks desperately like he wants to say something about Tony. Tony plows forward.

“He had a roommate, a Korean couple.” Tony says, mad that his voice rocks at that. _Focus_. “I think the female one, she’s the one that screamed.”

“So someone was in the apartment,” Clint says, and Tony has never been more thankful for him in his life. “It sounds like a suicide bomber.”

“Like what happened in Tennessee.” Natasha says.

“But what causes an explosion with no bomb parts? And what burns so hot it incinerates its victims?” Tony implores. “There’s very few things stable enough to do that, and this isn’t a nuclear blast.”

“Here’s what we are going to do.” Steve says, with the same Captain America type confidence that Tony resented so whole-heartedly on the Heli carrier. He bristles at it.

“Natasha and I?” He looks to her, “we should go to the crime scene, see if we can find those imprints.”

“Clint and I can stay here, search through evidence from the other blasts, reported or not, and see what we can come up with.” Tony finishes, and is shocked to find Steve nodding with him, agreeing.

“Also,” Tony’s getting a little more focused now, he must be coming down, both a good and bad thing. “I’ll call Rhodey. He’s a Colonel, he’s been investigating these for a while, but they seem to be a low priority as no one has taken credit.” Tony says.

“Sounds good. Natasha?” He nods at her once and the leave.

“You ready to do some reading, Accipitridae?” Tony says. “Coffee, JARVIS.”

“Me as well. Also, what the hell did you call me?” Clint asks.

“It’s the family hawks are derived from.” Tony says, like this is common knowledge. He steps over to the kitchen to capture his mug.

“Tony.” Clint says, and has the voice, the one that’s about to bring up the Thing that happened on the streets of New York. Tony doesn’t slow his step, doesn’t turn around to face it.

“I know what it’s like to be out of control.” He says after a breath.

Tony pauses when he gets to the coffee machine. He almost forgot about…

“Loki, he made me do things and, well. I was there the whole time, doing them. It kinda fucked me up.” Clint says.

“Well, shit happens.” Tony mutters. Boy, the coffee is taking a long time.

Clint snorts at that. “Tell me about it. All I’m saying is, I get needing to do something to make you feel more in control.”

For one, frightened minute, Tony wonder if Clint was going to call him out on his tastes for BDSM.

“Anxiety pushes you out of control.” Clint says. “But being able to do something, _anything_ , to still be productive, even when your body is telling you not to… it helps.”

“Yeah.” Tony turns and faces him, finally.

“I shoot, usually.” Clint says. “It’s repetitive, easy, something I know I’m capable of. Reminds me of, you know, my worth, I guess. Really easy to get overwhelmed when you’re surrounded by Gods and super soldiers.” Clint shrugs.

Tony grabs the coffee and gives it to Clint, and waits for the second one. “What are you trying to say, Barton.”

“I’m trying to say there’s a reason you’re on this team.” Tony’s eyes snap up the Clint, but Clint’s looking out the window.

“You know a lot more than you let on,” Tony observes.

“I see better from a distance.” He says. “You’re Tony Stark.”

“Technically, Tony Stark didn’t make it on the team.” Tony mutters.

“Fine. You’re Iron Man. Isn’t it about time you started acting like it?” Clint says softly, eyes searching Tony’s for understanding.

Tony doesn’t know how to respond to that, feeling oddly like he’d been chastised. Because it was true, that somewhere along the line he forgot what Iron Man was capable of. What _he_ was capable of.

“Never knew you were capable of this many words, Legolas.” Tony finally responds. The coffee maker stops, and he makes a sudden vow to drink this one very, very slowly.

“Neither was I. Now come on, we got reading to do.”

 

 

 

Bucky Barnes knows one thing for sure: he is definitely not supposed to be awake right now.

He must have blacked out or something, because when he comes to, he has a strip of black over his eyes. He tries to move, tries to make a noise, tries to do more than just breathe a steady in and out. It’s like he’s unable to even panic, his heart rate and breathing a controlled inhale and exhale, four seconds in and eight seconds out, like he’s on the cusp of falling asleep.

He has no perception of his arms and legs, of his body itself. It feels like he’s drifting, being rocked gently back and forth by the waves. It was almost soothing. Peaceful.

He hasn’t felt this way, since… since…

“What _the hell_ happened.”

A voice comes clear from his right, close enough that the inhabitant of that body could probably reach out and touch him. Bucky catalogs it as an older male.

“This whole thing,” the male voice continues, “is a complete clusterfuck.”

“The extraction was sloppy.” Another male voice speaks, slightly younger, also from his right, probably further away. “We didn’t have much time, and when we found him, his injuries were to great: we had to get him to a real hospital.”

“And kill the doctors?” The first voice say angrily. “Do you know how much of a mess that was?”

“After they operated on him! They could tell his physiology was unnatural, and after they removed all they could, we knew they would talk. We couldn’t let that happen.”

If Bucky could feel anything, it would probably be dizziness. Were they talking about him? Flashes of memories hit him. Being surrounded by hellfire, blood dripping from his mouth, Julia, with her throat slashed…

The second voice continues. “We think we found the cause of the dissonance, a memory from his past that we missed. We fixed it, and it shouldn’t happen again.”

What? Were they talking about him? What memory? Bucky tries to think, but he doesn’t know how to recall something that’s no longer there.

“That still doesn’t explain why he’s not self-reporting. Something has gone wrong. We will take him for analysis.” The first voice says, sounding like there was no argument to be had.

“Wait, we’re not done with him yet! We still need him.” Second voice pleads.

“Our deal was that you can use him, not _break_ him, Killian.” First voice says dismissively.

“He doesn’t need to be involved, we can use him as leverage. His relationship with Stark…”

Stark, Mr. Stark. Tony.

“…is still of use to us, and if we can use Bucky to get the formula—”

“I think you’ve done enough.” First voice dismissive.

“There’s another way.” A third voice comes from his left, feminine, familiar. “We all saw how distraught Stark was after the fire. He’s clearly much closer to Bucky than we thought. He also knows Bucky has a sister, a, what, war vet, with one arm. It’s only a matter of time before he figures out about the program. We tell Stark we’ve given her Extremis, and force him to fix it.”

“You want to use Rebecca? She’s not…”

Rebecca.

Bucky’s hearing fades, and a memory, fresher than the blood from a hunter’s kill, enters Bucky’s mind.

 

 

 

Once, as a child, Rebecca got lost on a train. Bucky was taking her somewhere, and she didn’t want to come with. She ran.

 

The conductor had found her crying in the luggage car, crouching behind a box.

 

What’s your name? He’d asked.

 

“Rebecca Barnes.” She sniffed

 

Where’s your seat?

 

“I don’t know,” She said, crying harder.

 

The conductor sighed. Where’s your ticket, sweetheart.

 

“My brother has it. But I know the number! I’m good with numbers.” She says, a little bit of confidence creeping back into her voice.

 

What is it sweetheart?

 

“32557038.”

 

The conductor types it into his phone.

 

I found it. Let’s go, sweetheart. I’m going to get you back to your seat.

 

He returned her to Bucky, giving him an odd look at his young age. He was barely old enough to be her guardian. Bucky nearly cries in relief when he sees her, and the conductor leaves them be.

 

I was so worried, he’d said. Don’t run off like that again, okay Rebecca? Okay?

 

“Okay, Bucky.”

 

 

Bucky fades back in, and he must have lost time, because people were beginning to wrap up.

“…can keep him, but after this is all over, you and I are going to have a chat with my boss to figure out what went wrong.” It was the first voice again, sounding less angry.

“You won’t be disappointed,” The Killian says with confidence.

“Hey, guys,” The feminine voice is behind him now. “His brain is lighting up a lot more than usual…”

“He’s dreaming Maya, you know this.” Killian says.

Maya. His…professor? Is that right?

“Right there, you see that? It’s like he, he recognized something.” Maya says again.

“He’s probably having another nightmare.” First voice says. “He has them often, like this. Never remembers them when he wakes up.”

“There’s no way he can wake up out of one, right?” Maya says dubiously.

The first voice comes back in. “He’s been trained not to. And the way he is now? No one but a handler could tell him to do anything, not even himself.”

Rebecca, dreaming, her nightmares twisting the sheets.

 _Please stop trying to wake me up, Bucky,_ she had said.

But he did wake her up this time. And somehow, he’d arrived here.

“Go, Maya. Meet with Stark.” The Killian nearly spat that name. “Fix this. I’ll start setting up the video to send him. We’ll lure him to the place in Miami and kill him.”

“What of the rest of the Avengers?” Maya says.

“What of them? After we have our army, there’s no way they can stand up to all of them.” The first voice says. “We have lines of people looking to become stronger, to be able to match Captain America in strength and finally destroy him.”

“And my money?” Killian says.

“You’ll get your money. Go, both of you. Now.”

The room empties, and Bucky is left alone with his own thoughts swirling with confusion. They had to be talking about him, they had to be doing something to him. The familiarity they spoke with him implies they’d been doing something for a long time.

And Maya, what was she doing here? Was she part of this the whole time? Bucky tries to think, tries to remember how they met, but realizes, with horror that he can’t. Then, he tries to think about applying to school, to getting his undergrad, hell, to memories from being a child, but there was nothing. All he had was dates and times and statistics, but he had no physical memory of what happened.

What were his old clients like? Bucky doesn’t know, he _doesn’t know_. He could list names and dates and address and phone numbers, but he couldn’t think about how he felt, during it, how they felt, during.

Bucky tries to panic, but he can’t. He’s breathing, in and out, slowly and calmly. He’s wracking his brain, and he just finds more and more emptiness, more and more nothing. Where was he from? His mind tells him Brooklyn. But what was Brooklyn like? What did it smell like? Sound like? _Taste_ like?

Where was Rebecca? She enlisted, but what did it feel like? Was he hurt when she did it? Proud? Worried? Where is she now? He took care of her for over a year, but when’s the last time they spoke? It worries Bucky that it takes him this long to wonder that. She’s the reason he started being an escort… Right? And Bucky remembers Rebecca, vividly, almost hyper-realistically. He remembered her morning and night, day after day. But the more he thinks about her, about her excitement over joining the Extremis program, her fear when she broke the dishes, her pain when she became concussed, the less anything made sense. It was like a play versus real life. There were sets and actors and stage directions, and Bucky was in the audience, watching it like it was real. But he’s started to look around, started to recognize the falseness of the atmosphere, the actors disappearing into the sides, the people in black moving the piece of the set. Why did he never question this before?

All of his memories were rote rehearsals of the real thing. The only, truly real things he seems to have felt were from the last two weeks, from Robertson and “Next in Tech,” and Tony and school, and Tony and Tony and Tony…

Bucky wants to move, but he can’t. He’s not supposed to. He’s not supposed to be awake either, and he is definitely not supposed to be questioning his reality. And Bucky doesn’t know how he knows he’s not supposed to be doing these things, and it frightens him more to think that, all this time, he’s had these thoughts, these tiny thoughts that he never questioned, and he was supposed to follow. Tiny things he accepted about himself as truths, that he never questioned…

After Tony spanked him, he told his body ran hot. Why did he do that? Why does he run hot? How come he never let Tony see the marks? When Tony presented him with the belt, he remembered thinking the belt could break skin. But he also thought that it couldn’t break _his_ skin. And he just, he just accepted that that was the truth. But why wouldn’t it break his skin? Why is he skin so strong?

He thought back when they were lying on the couch watching Die Hard, though about telling Tony about his old boyfriend, the one who’d never listened to his safe word. But he can’t remember old boyfriends, just the vague feeling that he’d been told what to do before, and he liked it. Where had _that_ feeling come from, and why did he feel different than all the others?

When they had dinner in Tony’s penthouse, and Tony asked about Bucky’s research, why was he so hesitant to respond? Why did he feel the need to hide it from him? Why did he avoid talking about himself? It’s not like Tony never asked. And Bucky didn’t have a reason to hide himself from him. How come, back then, he never realized that he couldn’t really remember anything?

And Steve, when they talked on the couch, and he gave him those numbers, and somehow knew of someone that looked like him… and the _numbers,_ they _were_ a big deal, but now they aren’t, but why were they a big deal in the first place?

And Bucky. Bucky _knew_ him. How did he…

Horrified, Bucky remembers the first voice. They _trained_ him. How long had they had him? What else have they trained him to do? How long has his bodily autonomy and mind and soul be controlled? Bucky wishes he could panic, would welcome any physical reaction beyond inhaling, and exhaling.

 _Who was he_?

 

 

 

“ _Sir, you have a visitor.”_

“Since when am I taking visitors?” Tony grouses. He’s sitting at the table with the Clint, the morning light drifting through the windows unwelcome. Tony hates that the world is still turning. It should stop, the world should stop, for something like this.

They’ve worked through the night, finding mostly the same information on each case. Rhodey is out of cell range, but Tony managed to ping him a message anyway on every profile he could. When Rhodey gets in the suit, there’s no way he’s going to miss Tony’s message.

“ _She’s referring to herself as Bucky Barnes professor.”_

Tony flinches again and blames it as a side effect of the coffee.

“Why is she here. What does she _want._ ” Tony grinds out. They have work to do.

“ _She is asking to speak with you of a manner of upmost importance, regarding Bucky Barnes.”_

“How does she know about our relationship?” Tony sighs. He feels strung out, like someone took the time to unravel a rope and lie it end to end on the ground.

“ _Unfortunately, through the media.”_ JARVIS says. _“The local news covered the fire, but the national news picked up on your panic attack. Since it was already minor public knowledge of yours and Bucky’s relationship, it stands to reason that people knew where Bucky lived, and somehow, you were involved with him deeply enough to be upset when his apartment exploded.”_

“Fuck.” Tony mutters. “Send her to the office. I’ll meet here there. Clint, I’ll be back.”

Clint nods absently. He’s picked up on Tony’s table system very quickly, and has all the photos from all the crime scenes scattered outwards.

When he makes his way to his office, he’s shocked to find a familiar face.

“Maya Hansen?” Tony frowns as he opens the door to his office. “ _You’re_ Bucky’s professor? Last I heard, you were at MIT.”

Maya gets a pained look on her face. “I need to talk to you, _now._ ”

He sits her down in front of his desk, frowning at her frantic tone. She seems upset and paranoid, she’s been running her hand through her hair several times.

“This isn’t a great time… unless you’re here to tell me about a twelve year old kid I didn’t know about?”

“Thirteen, actually.”

Tony flinches _again._

“Kidding.” She makes a funny noise, something that could be constructed as a laugh, but was laced with pain. “No, actually, I’m here to talk about Bucky.” Maya says. “I know you two were close…”

Tony very carefully does not react, mostly because his vision was starting to blur from some odd combination of coffee and lack of sleep.

“And I think I know what happened to him.”

Tony snaps to attention.

“Talk. Now.” He growls out.

Maya straightens up and meets him head on. “Do you remember my research? Back in Switzerland?”

“The super plants.” Tony waves his hand dismissively. He knows there was a lot more to it than that, but he purposefully comes across as non-remembering in order to get more information out of her.

Maya rolls her eyes. “Extremis.” Maya shoots back. “Hacking the genetic operating system of a living organism.”

Tony starts connecting dots in his head.

“But we had a problem, because occasionally the subjects…”

It clicks. A hotel room in Switzerland. New Years. Happy messing with her plant. A small explosion.

A bomb’s not a bomb when it’s a misfire.

“Maya. What did you do.” Tony stands slowly from his desk, seconds from calling Mark 42. She’s a civilian, and Tony should really just let the police handle this, but he’s not in the most stable of moods, and a darker, secret part of him that rears its head at times like this is hungry for revenge.

“It wasn’t me. I sold my data to a think tank, and they…” She says frantically

“It doesn’t matter, it was still your data!” Tony shouts. “Are you telling me you’re the one responsible for this? For what happened to Bucky? That you have moved on to human trials without first proving that it worked? Do you know how many laws you’ve broken? How many lives you’ve destroyed?” Tony’s voice is low in pitch and high in volume, and is the same tone he used when he found out one of his execs was skimming off the charity fund, using money meant to educate impoverished children in New York to buy his wife a fresh set of tits. Tony blacklisted him so hard that he still hasn’t found a job, and that was years ago.

“It wasn’t me!” Maya stands in response to him, putting her hands up in a mollifying gesture. “I was at a standstill, Tony! The equation you gave me, that night, it didn’t work, and I couldn’t figure it out. I thought they could, but it turns out, the guy in charge, he’s, he’s insane. He’s been desperately trying to come up with a product...”

“But they couldn’t, despite the, what, thirteen years it’s been? Because they’re not me.”

“Now we need—I need you to fix it Tony. I didn’t mean for this to happen. For any of it. But Killian—the one in charge—he’s obsessed with the stuff, he’s been using the test subjects as his soldiers. He sent one to try and take Bucky but—”

“He still hasn’t worked out the kinks.” Tony spits. “Clearly. And he needs me to do it. Fuck that shit. I’m going to kill him, instead.” Tony starts texting a serious of commands to JARVIS that essentially equate to “find him.”

“You can’t, Tony.” Maya swallows hard. “He—he went off the rails after he realized he couldn’t get a viable product. He’s desperate. And while he didn’t get Bucky, he did get his sister.”

Tony’s fingers freeze on the keypad.

“She was in the program,” Maya continues, “and when he found out how close you were to her brother, he took her out of the lineup. He plans on sending you a live stream of her injected with Extremis. But it doesn’t work, Tony, she’s going to… I’ve seen what happens to people that reject the serum.” Maya says. “Not just explosions, but full body meltdown. Maybe she’ll make it, maybe she won’t.”

“But it’s not a risk I’m going to take.” Tony says. This he could do. This he could fix. For Bucky. He sends the command to JARVIS to find him, anyway. “Send me everything.” Tony says. “And come upstairs, now.”

He says nothing to her on the walk to the elevator. But inside, he does.

“How could you let this happen, Maya?” Tony growls.

Maya looks away, looks down at the floor of the elevator. Her voice comes out exhausted. “We all begin wide-eyed. Pure science. And then the ego steps in, the obsession. And you look up, you’re a long way from shore.”

Tony’s been there, one thousand time over. Even before Afghanistan, even when he spent more of his time drinking and fucking, he’d always pretended that following the basic rule of ethics were enough. But when he found out about the double-dealing, he realized that as long as he produces the tools of war, the wrong side is always going to have access to it. After Afghanistan, he fixed his act. Cut them off. Established accountability from the floor up. He may never fully atone for his sins, but he certainly is trying.

She went the opposite way, and he has no pity for her. “You used to have moral psychology.” He accuses. “You used to have _ideals_. You wanted to help people. Now look at you.”

“Extremis was supposed to save the world. I never wanted…”

“But _you_ sold it, didn’t you? To the highest bidder. You saw the type of man this was going to, and you just _let_ him have it.” Tony was disgusted with her, disgusted with how much of her he saw in that old, pre-Afghanistan version of himself.

Maya says nothing. Just keeps looking at the ground.

“This is your responsibility, Maya.” Tony lets his words resonate as the elevator arrives.

“Barton.” Tony says. “We got a lead.”

 

 

 

Bucky Barnes has been in sleep paralysis for a long time. He didn’t know how long, it felt like forever. He feels like he’s losing his mind. No matter what he does, no what he thinks, none of his body’s standard reactions seem to occur. He wishes desperately to fall back to sleep, but he doesn’t know how he would even be capable of that, here, since technically he was already asleep.

He thought about Julia. How she didn’t deserve this. Her husband, who Bucky hopes wasn’t home, having to deal with this. She was adorable, the way she wrote little characters and smiley faces into the steam on the glass of the shower. That’s an emotion that’s his, he decides.

He thought about Sarah. He wondered how her school was doing. She was really smart, and a little weird, and Bucky thinks she’ll do well. He holds onto that thought, hopes this emotion as well is really truly his.

He thought about the people who spoke about him like a science experiment, and how one seemed to know more about him than the other two. He thought about his research into prosthetics and phantom limbs, and Killian’s use of the word “dissonance.” He wonders if that is their research. Wonders what that has to do with his. Wonders if he ever had research at all.

He thinks about the last nightmare he’d had of Rebecca, when she was sitting in her chair, whispering to him, wonders what she was trying to tell him. Her hair was long for a man’s but short for a woman’s. Her arm…

Something snaps in Bucky. Her arm. Her _arm._ What was wrong with her arm? It was both there and gone, he remembers. Was that dissonance too? Did they forget that? He supposed to tell them, but he’s tired of doing things he’s supposed to do. He’s broken one rule, he wants to break them all. He wants to rip this blindfold from his eyes—

_Lowest number wins. No blindfolding?” Tony says._

_“I need to be able to see.” Bucky says simply, and Tony crosses out his 3 and writes a 0, just like that._

Wants someone to give him some answers. His head is being ripped in half. He _hates_ being blindfolded, he needs to see, and they know it and they do it anyways, but Bucky wants someone he can trust—

_“One word, Bucky.” Tony says. “One word, and all of this stops.”_

_Bucky is shocked at how fully and whole-heartedly he believes that._

_“I trust you.” Bucky whispers._

They—these people, they control him, but they don’t care about him, they make him do things whether he wants to or not, but Tony, would stop if he asked, he would give him a choice—

_“But you should never feel like you can’t Bucky.” Tony says, and even without looking at him Bucky can tell how strongly he feels. “Ever. You always have a choice.”_

_Bucky closes his eyes. “You make me feel like I do, Tony.” Bucky says quietly._

He needs to find Tony.

On the table, his hand twitches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading ya'll!


	9. Team Building

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve stands, chair pushing back with a screech. “Guess we just have to stop sitting on our asses.”
> 
> Tony blinks up at him in surprise. “I’m telling Fury you said a bad word.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ninth chapter is teetering on 10k words, so I took the liberty of splitting it into two, with some nice sexy cliffhangers to tide y'all over.
> 
> Sorry for the late update! Don't worry, I'll never give up on this story. And, I already have pieces of the next chapter written, so that one may come up on time!
> 
> I just want to take a moment for all of yall that started this story for the sex, and despite all this plot you're still here. 
> 
> This is also to those who don't have Tony/Bucky as a main pairing, or don't love BDSM, but are still here anyways. I hope this story has something for everyone.
> 
> And for those enjoying everything, well that just tickles me pink! :D
> 
> Thank you for every last kudo and every last comment, the interest in this story is beyond anything I could of imagined, and every last one of you inspire me to keep writing.
> 
> Minor Warnings: very mild Extremis related body horror, sleep paralysis, discussion of anxiety + depression. Steve swearing.
> 
> Enjoy!

All and all, it takes Tony about an hour in his lab to fix the exploding problem, which would be embarrassing for Maya if it was anyone else but him. He steps upstairs, leaving special Extremis proof handcuffs on the milling machine.

“Tony.” Natasha says from the table as he reaches the penthouse, and he thinks, briefly, that they’re gonna need a better meeting space. “You think you can fix this?”

Steve and Natasha had returned from Bucky’s apartment, which apparently had been so decimated by the blast that nothing was recoverable. The second they got back, Tony brought them up to speed on Maya, who was handcuffed and locked in a spare room downstairs, for lack of anywhere else to put her, under the watchful eye of Clint.

Fuck, he’s going to have to build a jail cell too, isn’t he?

“I already did.” Tony says, joining them at the table.

Natasha nods and stands. “I’m going to get us some wheels.”

Steve looks up at her with a rare grin. “Quinjet?”

“Quinjet.” She confirms. “I’ll call SHIELD.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Why are we getting a Quinjet? I can fly, remember?” Tony says.

“The rest of us aren’t as lucky.” Natasha snorts. “Unless you’re gonna carry us all?”

“Absolutely not. But you guys aren’t coming.” Natasha and Steve share a glance, and Natasha nods before pulling out her phone and stepping away from the table. “Where are you…? No, you guys don’t need to come, I mean, I can fly much faster than a Quinjet, so as soon as Killian sends a video and we find his location, it makes sense for me to fly there as fast as possible.”

“You’re not going alone, Tony.” Steve says with finality, the command rubbing Tony the wrong way.

“Because you don’t think I can handle it?” Tony spat. “Too shaken up? Spock’s been emotionally compromised, Captain?”

“Because he was my friend too.” Steve says, louder, and Tony rubs his eyes.

Steve takes a deep breath. “I know it’s not the same, Tony. It’s just…” Steve struggles with the next part. “You’ve done a lot for me. For us. More than you know. So, it’s the least I can do.”

“Don’t feel _obligated_.” He says, irritated. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s _not_ nothing.” Steve sits up, and he’s apparently in the mood for a speech. “Listen. The way I treated you on the Helicarrier, during the battle with the Chitauri, it wasn’t right, Tony. And I came into your house and I’ve been nothing but rude to you, and you’ve done nothing but try to make me feel at home, and I’ve barely even given you a chance. I’m sorry.”

If Tony thought he didn’t know how to handle Steve’s anger, he _definitely_ doesn’t know how to handle him apologizing. “‘t’s fine.” He says dismissively. And he then he sighs at himself, because he’s had way too many emotions in the past hour, but this is an opening into a discussion Steve needs to have.

“You’ve had a lot happen to you, and I can’t imagine how hard it must be to wake up in a world like this, when you are quite literally older than sliced bread, and all your friends are gone. So. It’s fine. If you sometimes… If sometimes you’re mad. Or, you know, depressed. It happens.”

He’s been looking at the table as he spoke, but when he looks up, he realizes Steve’s face has flushed red. “How did—I’m not—Who told you, was it Nat?” Steve says, agitated. “I’m functional, alright, I don’t need—”

“Hey! Whoa, hold your horses, Steve.” He picks his words carefully. “Look. No one is saying you can’t punch and kick like the best of ‘em. All I’m saying is that we’re not going to cart you away and electroshock your head if sometimes you’re having an off day, or week, or century. Which, hell, is almost the case for you, isn’t it?”

Steve bites his lip like he’s physically repressing his response, and Tony’s pretty sure he’s fucking this up.

“Well, fine. Is that what you think of me?” Tony’s voice begins to rise, defensive. “You saw what happened, to me, the damn whole world did, on the street. What, do you think _I’m_ not functional?” Tony retorts.

Steve shakes his head. “That’s different. You’d just been through a traumatic event, that’s why you’ve—”

“I’ve had anxiety my _whole life_ Steve!” Tony shouts, and that seems to finally cut through Steve’s thought process because it stops him short.

Tony heaves a heavy breathe. He’s so tired. He’s always tired. When’s the last time he’d not been tired?

“And,” he lowers his voice and begrudgingly admits, “I may have never, _properly,_ dealt with it.” He looks down at the last dregs of coffee in his mug, Clint’s shame inducing words ringing in his head.

 _You’re Iron Man._ _Isn’t it about time you started acting like it?_

 _“_ Coped, maybe. But the point is… fuck. The point is that it’s alright to use a crutch to properly heal, ok?” Tony says like a big, fat, hypocrite. He rubs his hand over his face. How the hell did the conversation get here? “And,” Tony tacks on with a bit more energy. “You just, essentially, woke up from a 70 year coma. How does that _not_ qualify as a traumatic event?”

Steve actually manages to look sheepish at that.

“Look.” Tony says. “I think we’ve gotten off track here.”

“You think?” Steve makes a huffing noise. “Anyways, we’re coming. And it’s not because of what happened to you, it’s because we’re all invested in this, and Bucky was one of our own.”

Tony doesn’t bring up the fact that he paid Bucky to be part of this nightmare, the guilt much to fresh to acknowledge right now. The least he can do is get Rebecca out of this mess, and make sure she never goes a day without wanting anything ever again. Maybe build her a better arm. Who knows.

“It would be good to have SHIELD in on this,” Tony admits. “I don’t think we have authority to arrest people. Hell, I don’t think we have any authority at all.”

It goes silent for a moment as they both muse over that.

Steve shrugs. “I _am_ a Captain.”

Tony snorts. “And with a last name like America…”

Steve gives him a small smile.

“It’s just going to take so much longer to fly there in a jet, Steve.” Tony sighs. He suits are a little over twice as fast, and every minute counts in this situation. “And who knows how long it will be until Killian contacts us? Fuck, we’re just sitting on our asses, waiting.” Tony’s fingers twitch for something to do. Something to make, something to consume, something to occupy his spinning mind.

Steve stands, chair pushing back with a screech. “Guess we just have to stop sitting on our asses.”

Tony blinks up at him in surprise. “I’m telling Fury you said a bad word.”

Steve’s lips quirk. “An ass is another name for a donkey. We should talk to Maya. I may be able to get something out of her. Come on?”

Tony looks down to his hands, still shaking lightly. He’s not sure if it’s anxiety or coffee or exhaustion. “Nothing else for it, I guess.” He murmurs.

On the ride down, Tony leaning against the elevator wall, Steve standing straight and tall, Tony notices Steve’s shift in demeanor. He’s lawful and just, like usual, but he also seems filled with new purpose. A man with a plan, it seems. He’s a soldier, through and through. And, take it from Tony, who still remembers that incredibly addicting feeling he got when he first took down those terrorists in Gulmira, when this mission’s over, he’s just going to want more. He’s gonna make fighting his vice.

Tony remembers when he made ‘the mission’ his whole life, forgoing comfort, and sleep, and Pepper, for the sake of the next kill. It made him ruthless, it make him unstoppable and it saved many a life.

And, it was a complete shit way to live.

Steve’s never had anyone look out for him, never figured out how to lean on others, not the way Tony had Pepper. Well, _had_ had Pepper. Then he had Bucky, and. Fuck. Tony’s not going to make the mistake of having anyone ever again.

But the point is… the point is that the elevator has arrived, and he doesn’t have to think about this anymore. What’s with elevator rides and introspection anyway? He leads Steve to the bedroom where Clint and Maya were and steps in. Maya’s handcuffed to the headboard, and Clint’s—

“Are you _watching TV_?” Tony says.

Clint shrugs. “What’s she gonna do? JARVIS has an eye out.” He flips the sound off, but doesn’t stop the news from playing, and Tony resigns himself to the fact that he’s probably going to be building an interrogation room in the tower, too.

“Maya Hansen? I’m Steve Rogers.” Steve says, coming around to the bedside. So they’re having the interrogation in one of his spare bedrooms. How quaint.

“Holy shit.” She breathes.

Tony huffs, because she wasn’t nearly this starstruck with him.

“I wanted to know if there was anything else you wanted to tell Tony and I. We really, really need to know where Killian might be holding Rebecca.” Steve says seriously. “Any information you have could really help rectify the situation.”

“The situation that is _your_ fault.” Tony reminds her, and she bites her lip.

“It’s never too late to do the right thing,” Steve says, “anything you have can go a long way. It may be too late for Bucky, but it doesn’t have to be for Rebecca.”

Maya shakes her head, her eyes moving away from Steve’s.

“You’re hiding something.” Steve says.

“I’m not hiding anything!” Maya proclaims, and now that Steve mentions it, she does sound a bit too defensive.

“What is Killian planning on doing with Extremis?”

Steve brings up a good question, and Tony wishes he was in the right mind to ask it earlier.

“He’s… I don’t know.”

“I think you do, Maya.” Tony warns.

“Dammit…” Maya mutters. “We had a buyer. He has a buyer.”

“Who?” Steve pries.

“I don’t know. We’ve only met a few times, but we were never given a name.”

“Just the promise of a lot of money. Right?” Tony adds harshly, and she heaves a heavy sigh.

Steve turns to Tony and makes a motion with his head towards the door. Tony trusts him to have something, and heads to leave, but Maya stops him.

“Wait. Tell me something Tony.” Tony looks back. “I’ve been wondering how… I’ve been wondering about the effect you had on Bucky. He… changed… a lot after he met you.”

Tony shouldn’t listen to this, but any information about Bucky was delicious and painful, which are apparently his two favorite things.

“What do you mean?”

Maya makes a strange noise. “He… It had to have been… He must have loved you, Tony.” Maya says.

How dare she, how _fucking_ — “You don’t get to talk about him!” Tony shouts. “Not after _what you did_.”

Maya looks frightened, looks shrouded in shame. “I didn’t… I didn’t realize what would happen. I didn’t think of him as a person.” She says quietly.

“You didn’t think of _any_ of them as people.” Tony feels a hand on his shoulder, but he needs to get this out, Steve. “And _now_ —” His voice cracks terrifyingly. Fucking _hell,_ he never wants to have an emotion _again_. “I mean… What were you thinking? What were _any_ of you thinking?! Doing this to people? Destroying their lives? I can’t even begin to wrap my head around your _complete_ _stupidity._ ”

“Tony…” Steve murmurs. “Not here.”

“It was just… collateral damage.” She says, and Tony almost growls when he hears that phrase. “A means to an end. The idea that. That, to build a better world, sometimes means tearing the existing one down.” She said quietly. Her eyes were miles away now, and her voice sounded almost… rehearsed.

“And you were okay with that?! Do you _know_ what you sound like right now?” Tony cries. _Me._ He wants to say. _You sound like me._

“I don’t know anymore.” She says quietly, and she curls into herself on the bed. Tony wants to scream, wants to shout until his throat is raw and rip his hair from his skull.

“Tony, come on.” Steve says quickly.

Tony turns and slams out of the room, breathing hard, but amazingly, not panicked. “I can’t believe how low people go sometimes, Steve.” He says. “And I’m upset. I’m upset because that was me. That was me, just a few years ago, selling my fucking soul without a care in the world.”

“But you’re not now.” Steve says, firmly.

“And she had to bring up… she dared to say that…” Tony collapses into a chair at the table. Dared bring up that dirty little “L” word.

Steve sits down next to him, remaining quiet and letting Tony have his moment.

“He couldn’t’ve, loved me Steve.” Tony says. “You’re probably going to judge me, Mr. ‘an ass is a donkey,’ but Bucky and I weren’t together, like that really.” Tony snorts. “I _paid_ him, to be here. Paid him to be pretty. Paid him to make me feel normal. And this is what happens.”

“Well… I kinda figured, Tony.” Steve says gently.

Tony looks at him shocked. “You knew?”

“Well…” Steve shuffles in his seat. “He seemed a little young for you…”

“Oh, _fuck off_.”

“But that doesn’t make what you had any less real.” Steve adds.

Goddamn. He hates that Steve’s right. Hates that he’s so easy to give everything away. Hates that he can’t even keep his emotions out of a fake relationship. Tony drops his face in his hands. “Does it hurt? Being righteous all the time?”

“Well, I have been told I’m a pain in the donkey.”

Tony laughs into his palms, sharp and hard.

“But what I wanted to talk to you about. Maya brought up some points about Extremis, things that don’t add up. It doesn’t work, yet they already have a buyer? That, combined with what she said about needing to tear down the world and build a new one. I think the buyer, whoever he is, is trying to build an army.”

“They.” Tony corrects. “Could be a woman. Or a country.”

“I… Right. Who wouldn’t want an army of superhumans? That was the point of the supersoldier serum back in the War, and I can’t imagine how much more destruction would have been wrought if there were thousands of me, not just one.”

“If there were thousands of _you_ , then we probably would have achieved world peace by now.” Tony snorts. “But I get your point.” He’s calm again, but not in a good way. In a worn way, like the energy of having an emotion had taxed him.

“It means that we need to find that formula, and we need to destroy it. And the people that are already soldiers—”

“We need to cure them.”

Steve nods, like he’s satisfied by Tony not saying the word ‘kill.’

“And we have to be prepared to fight.” Steve says.

“Luckily, I have a plan or two for that. 40 of them, actually.” Tony smiles. “I’m going to work on the cure.” That’s something he can do. He thinks. “Shouldn’t be too hard, right? JARVIS, order a pizza, or four, will you?”

 

 

 

 

Bucky fuels himself with thoughts of Tony.

Bucky thinks about the way Tony was after his nightmare, the vulnerability in his body as he tightened himself into a ball, a reflex he must use to make himself less obtrusive. Bucky remembers the way he curled up into his side, the sweet, delicate kiss he placed on the top of his head. Remembered the way he woke up from that nightmare, striking his palm towards Bucky like… like Iron Man shooting a blast, he thinks.

Most of all, he remembers his desire to wake Tony up that night, outweighing everything, despite the fact that he Rebecca taught him he wasn’t supposed to wake people up from nightmares. Something in him changed that night, something deep.

His fingers curl into a fist.

Bucky remembers rubbing himself off on Tony’s pants in the limo. Remembers getting fucked through the floor of his penthouse. Remembers begging Tony for the privilege to cum, remembers the delicious and overwhelming feeling of shame and humiliation.

And he remembers what came right after, the careful washing of his face and body, the inexorable need for Tony to feed him, a primal instinct to provide. The gentle praise of “so good for me, so _good_ for me…”

Tony is the first person who rewarded Bucky like that for serving him. The first to care for him, even when he didn’t even _do_ anything. To bend him back and lick him open, to sit at his side for hours when he didn’t have too…

Bucky can bend his wrist now.

He remembers Tony’s over-possessiveness at seeing him talk to Steve, and if he would laugh if he could at that, remembering the shocked and embarrassed look on Steve’s face when Tony claimed him, before Bucky made Steve feel at ease.

He also remembers the ride into his lightest subspace, drifting along the waves, (oddly similar to the way he was drifting now), Tony wrapping a belt around his neck like a makeshift collar, mumbling, over and over, mine, mine, mine. How right it sounded to say back, “yours, yours, yours.”

How right it feels to be Tony’s.

Bucky seems to be able to move his arm now, just the one, and just at the elbow. It feel like it weighed million pounds, but he dragged it, centimeter by centimeter, until it met his pant leg. Using his fingers he crawls it up his leg like a spider, until he makes it up the side, then slowly dips his hand into his pocket, searching for the familiar feeling of his wallet.

 _Fuck_.

His wallet is gone, and with it, the emergency card Tony gave him.

They must have taken it out and put it somewhere, or changed his pants, or…

He has to find it. Fuck. But how? It’s one thing to crawl a hand up his pants, it another to move his whole body, plus who knows what injuries he has from the blast? Who knows how long it would take to free him from this sleep, let alone search the room?

Hell, who knows how long it’s _been?_ Bucky is suddenly aware of himself trapped in his own body, stuck to the table other than the movements of a few fingers. What would they do to him if they saw him? What had they already _done_ to him? What kind of monster is he? If they were somehow controlling him, they could snap their fingers and, and somehow just kill him, like he was some sort of… some sort of _sleeper cell_. The thought seems like something out of a movie, but, fuck, what else could it be?

 _Focus_. Ok.

If someone is controlling him, then somehow, some way, they managed to put him to sleep. So, what’s the last thing he remembered before he woke up here?

It was that recurring he dream he had. The one where Rebecca was having a nightmare, and she told him not to wake her up. It was based on a memory—Bucky knows this— but the memory it was based on was one of the ones he discovered was too vivid, too well remembered to be real.

Bucky knows the memory of that day with Rebecca like the back of his hand. Remembers running into her room during her nightmare, her saying…

 

_“If you care about me at all, you’ll stop trying to wake me up.”_

Except…

She didn’t say that during _this_ dream, did she? Something different happened, this time, didn’t it?

He tries to focus on the dream he had _actually_ had, concentrated on bringing it to the forefront of his mind. Analyzed every detail until the illusion started to fall apart like paper sitting too long in water.

And he swore to himself.

Because the latest dream, the one he had before he woke up to this fresh hell, it didn’t take place in Rebecca’s room like usual. This time the sheets were red, and the skyline of New York was lit up outside the floor to ceiling windows, and someone had kicked him in the knee, curling into his pillow…

The latest dream wasn’t about Rebecca. It was about _Tony._

And, if Bucky could guess, the memory of Tony having a nightmare somehow got mixed up with his memory of Rebecca having a nightmare. Which is why when he dreamt about it, it was somehow both of them mixed together in a way dreams can only mix people together, causing some sort of… some sort of dissonance…

But why did he wake her up? Him up? He knew, he _knew,_ he wasn’t supposed to wake him up, because Rebecca had _said_ not to wake people up from nightmares. Those were her rules.

But another part of him, the part that craved Tony like skin craves moisture, _that_ part of him wanted to help Tony. And that part of him, Bucky realizes, was actually well and truly _himself_. That was the part of him that thought Julia was adorable. That was the part of him that felt pride when Sarah succeeded. That was the little piece of Bucky that was _his own._

And that little piece of himself must have ignored Rebecca’s orders and woke Tony up in that dream because, deep down, he wanted to save Tony from his nightmare. But he combined Tony and Rebecca in his dream, so, in a way, he _also_ woke up Rebecca, which ended up him waking up _himself_ from whatever sleep he was forced into, at least, waking up the part of himself that managed not to be controlled by these people, and that’s… that’s…

Really fucking confusing.

And since when did it become Rebecca’s _orders?_

Bucky mentally sighs, completely turned around by his own thought process. He mentally shakes his head and focuses on what’s important. Getting up, getting that card, and maybe finding a way out.

Here’s what he knows.

Something about Tony manages to cut through whatever… control these people have over him.

He can use this. He can worry about understanding it all, later. If just thinking of Tony can break through he control like this, perhaps Tony telling him what to do can help.

 _It’s easy to sort through your memories when you only have a couple weeks’ worth of them_ , Bucky thinks derisively.

He finds exactly what he’s looking for, the moment Tony ordered him… _told_ him, Christ, told him to use the card in the case of an emergency.

_“This,” Tony places a white piece of plastic the size of a credit card on the seat next to him, “will get you in contact with me immediately. If you ever feel unsafe, do not hesitate to use it. I’d rather have a false alarm then have something happen to you. You understand?”_

Ok. So, he’s unsafe now. He’s supposed to use the card.

_He’s not supposed to move._

But he’s unsafe now. He’s supposed to use the _card_.

_‘Conflicting orders. Default to highest rank.’_

The façade of Bucky’s dream world crumbles, and his whole body comes to life.

He rips the blindfold off his eyes, blinking into the bright white ceiling above him.

Conflicting— _What_? What the _fuck_?

Bucky’s sanity is barely hanging on by a thread. Gaps in his memory, splitting headaches, wild hallucinations, and now, now voices? In his head?

He desperately tries to pull himself together, the vague feeling that he doesn’t have much time weighing on him.

He can move. That’s good. Good.

Bucky takes stock of himself. His leg is in a splint, but it doesn’t look like there’s a reason for it. He feels mildly nauseated, and he has a pretty intense headache. He carefully stands, and realizes that he was right in thinking his leg was healed. He was lying on a metal table, the room around him is small and plain, with a few counters on the far wall. Behind him was an odd contraption, standing at the base of the table. It looked like something you’d find for a patient in a hospital bed, with a heart monitor and several screens, but there was also a strange, helmet like device at the end, like a beauty salon hair dryer.

Looking at it stirs the nausea in his stomach, and he turns away quickly.

He starts by searching the counters, walking carefully with bare feet over to the wall, and finding nothing. Frustrated but not deterred, he creeps his way over to the door, inching it gently outwards. It open-ended to hallway that didn’t match the room at all. It was ornate, done up in bright, beachy colors. A warm breeze makes its way down the hall, and Bucky gets the feeling he’s somewhere tropical, far away from New York.

The hallway itself is mostly empty, and Bucky creeps out, carefully walking across the tile until he reached the next room on his left. He cracks the door—it’s a bathroom, and, oh _boy_ Bucky could really use that right now, but he probably couldn’t afford the flush.

Biting his lip, ‘cause it was disgusting, Bucky goes against everything he was ever taught, relieves himself, and leaves it there. He thanks God that there was a nice, quiet bottle of hand sanitizer on the counter.

Immediate needs sated, he continues down the hall, peeking into rooms and trying to keep to the wall. He doesn’t run into anyone, which goes from being lucky to being odd. The place was as big as a mansion, yet, it seems like none of the rooms were—

Voices come from around the hallway corner, and Bucky ducks into the nearest empty room, an old office that had a dusty desk and several boxes in the corner.

“…want to be demanding without seeming desperate, you know? As far as Stark knows, we have all of our shit together.” One of the voices from Bucky’s weird sleep. Killian.

“Of course, sir.” A male voice, that he’s never heard before.

“Where’s Rebecca? It took us long enough to get her.” Killian says.

Bucky’s entire body flinches at that. Rebecca’s here? He presses his ear against the door.

“Right here.” A female voice says, and it sounds like they have just passed his hiding spot. Bucky needs to see her, it’s been so long since he’s spoken to her. It’s a terrible decision, but he leans over, cracks the door, and takes a peek down the hall.

There were five of them, walking quickly, but only one woman. And the woman, even from the back, wasn’t Rebecca, not by a long shot. It didn’t even _sound_ like her. Her hair was too long, and her build was much too thin, and she only had one arm. _Rebecca_ had hair to her shoulders, and was built. Incredibly, unbelievably built, and had a… a metal arm…

Right?

_Right?_

Bucky tries to picture Rebecca, and the pain lances through his head so hard drops to his knees, bringing his fist to his mouth to stifle his scream. He bites down, hard, cutting the skin open, and tasting blood, trying to keep quiet. In moments, the pain withers away, and Bucky is left panting into his fist, the voices fading down the hallway.

Tears collect in Bucky’s eyes, the toll of the last few days, the last few _hours,_ exhausting him down to his core. 

Of course he had to add thoughts of Rebecca to his list of “shit that’s wrong with him.” He has to admit though, when he dares to think about it, that something about Rebecca is… off. Some of his memories of his sister don’t really fit with the rest of his memories. It was almost like his life was a story, and someone just… _threw_ the memories in there willy-nilly, in places that didn’t quite fit the narrative. Like he was trying to put together pieces of a puzzle, but some of the pieces he was trying to make fit were from the wrong box.

And that fact he has all these memories of his sister that he can’t fully picture? Can’t rationalize? It was like he was one of those people he heard about on a 60 minutes special, one of those people who can’t recognize faces and have to accept that fact their mother was their mother and their father was their father. Except it was only Rebecca he couldn’t recognize. But then, how does he know, beyond all doubt, that it was her? Why does he accept that fact so completely? It makes very little sense.

Gently, Bucky eases his hand out of his mouth, his fist feeling oddly warm.

His head starts to pound, so he forces those thoughts away. He has a mission. He has to find that card. And a couple of band-aids too, given how hard he—

Bucky’s hand is _on fire_.

He sits on his ass in shock, pushing his hand as far away from himself as possible, watches as embers gently stitch together the surface wounds on his hand in record time, watches as the embers die and his skin cools, as if nothing was there.

What the fuck. What the _fuck. What_ the _fuck._

Bucky can’t stop the tears this time, sobbing thickly and quietly into his chest.

He doesn’t know how much more he can take, how many more fucked up things he can find out about himself. How little of himself is really his own? He doesn’t know what’s going on with him, barely knows who he is, and now, now, he’s got… _fire?_ In his skin? Like the guy who blew up the apartment. Oh God, is he one of them? Is he going to explode?

It takes everything Bucky had, and a little he didn’t know he had, to pull his shit together after this. He wipes his eyes and takes a long, deep breath, and stands.

Ok. He has a mission. He has a mission for _Tony._

And he _never_ fails his missions.

He steps out of the hallway after the last voice dies away, (“who forgot to flush? Fucking savages.”) and he walks quickly around the corner, which opened into a main room of sorts, with couches and a television. And there, on the coffee table, next to a pile of papers and a bottle of water, like a gift from God, was his phone, his wallet, and his keys.

He rushes over, knowing that he doesn’t have much time exposed like this. He’s desperately wants to use his phone, but knows if would be more obvious if he took it, plus, Tony may text or call back, or they might read his messages. Instead, Bucky takes his wallet in shaking hands, grabs the card, and presses the button. A red light start to blink on it, but other than that it stayed blissfully quiet, and he slides it back into his wallet.

He stands up and dashes back to the hallway, but when he turns the corner, the muzzle of a gun presses against his forehead, held by a strong, bald man, chewing gum.

“And where do you think you’re going?” The man grins.

 

 

 

Rhodey swoops in, finally, when Tony is halfway through a pizza, researching a cure pretty unsuccessfully, desperately wishing for Bruce to come home.

“Tony.” He says as he walks in the lab, and Tony feels the overwhelming and completely inappropriate urge to give him a hug.

“I heard about what happened, and I’m really, truly sorry about Bucky.” He says.

Tony sighs.

“You need to stop doing that.” Rhodey says.

“No, _I’m_ allowed to sigh. You’re not.” Tony corrects.

“So, what. You can be upset, but I can’t?”

“Yes. Pizza?”

“Tony.”

“I’m dealing with it. Alright? Not drinking. No drugs. Mostly. No _illegal_ drugs. Just a weird, coffee thing. Only had a panic attack for like a few minutes. Clint was helpful.” Tony recaps.

“Clint, hm?” Rhodey comes into Tony’s space, and Tony leans backwards to look at him.

“Yeah. He’s. Yeah. The team’s coming together, Platypus.” Tony says, with a little bit of pride.

“Figures, since there’s an entire Quinjet just sitting on your Helicopter pad. Had to kind of… sidle in for the landing. How are things?”

“Well,” Tony says, grabbing another slice. “We’ve figured out who’s blown up Bucky, and everyone else, and we’re sort of holding a woman hostage downstairs.”

“What?!”

“Figured SHIELD can do something about that. Also, I know how to fix everyone that’s blowing up. The people responsible are a small company called AIM, run by good old Aldrich Killian, who’s experiments have gone horribly, horribly wrong. Fucking mad scientists.” Tony mutters.

“How… wait. AIM? It can’t be AIM. They are involved with us.” Rhodey says, puzzled. “They did the ‘Iron Patriot’ rebrand.”

Tony’s eyes snap towards his. “Really? Why would they do that?” It doesn’t seem to match with their intentions… he should bring this up with Steve. “More importantly, does that mean you have access to their systems? We can see their files?”

“Yeah, but I would need access to the US government file system, which is on a heavily encrypted communication’s satellite that you don’t have access to... Right? Tony?”

Tony’s grin had been crawling across his face during Rhodes’s speech. “Jarv.”

“ _Pulling up the ‘super-secret spy network’, sir.”_ JARVIS drolls. It takes only seconds for the network to attach itself to the satellite, and another for a username and password screen to pull up on the monitor in front of Tony.

Rhodey shakes his head. “Of course you do, man.” He sounds fond. “The name’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?”

Tony’s grin doesn’t abate. “Go ‘head, login. J, get the others here. Ever wanted to meet Captain America?”

“Not particularly. Don’t go stealing my password, again.” Rhodey says, and Tony nods, like he’s doesn’t have a program monitoring all the keystrokes on his keyboard.

The videos pull up as soon as Steve and Natasha arrive, both geared up for battle.

“Steve, Natasha, this is Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes, also known as, uh, Iron Patriot. Honeybear, this is the team.”

Steve and Rhodey shake hands, some sort of military understanding or camaraderie or whatever passing between the two. Guess they’re friends now?

“Pleasure to meet to meet you again, Colonel.” Natasha offers, and Tony wonders if they’ve interacted as Natalie and Rhodey at some point.

“Ma’am,” he nods. Apparently so.

“Great! This isn’t awkward. So, apparently, the Air Force knows Maya’s think tank company, and we have some access to their systems, and here’s what we found.”

Tony starts filtering through the videos on screen. They were interviews, it looks like, with questions being asking off screen. The interviewees were mostly war veterans or people with missing limbs, each being asked to state their name for the camera, and what the defining moment of their life was.

The highlight was watching as a young redhead woman is injected with what Tony assumes to be Extremis, and watching as her arm actually _grows back_.

At least it was the highlight, until they watched a video of someone “failing to regulate,” and they exploded right there on screen.

Tony bites the inside of his lip, stress at not being able to get to Rebecca tripling.

“That’s some next level shit.” Rhodes says.

“It looks like it started out as a good idea. They just rushed into it.” Steve says.

“And they were evil.” Tony adds.

Steve sighs. “And, they were evil.”

Tony scrolls through the files on screen, which were labelled by patient name. He scrolls up and down, but…

“I can’t find Rebecca.” Tony murmurs. Maybe she was married? Changed her last name? Still, Ctrl-F should have found her first name, at least.

“JARVIS, search everything for any mentions of Rebecca.” He says.

“ _Yes, sir._ ”

“Maya said that Killian pulled her from the program early, maybe they just never did a video for her.” Steve mused.

“That doesn’t make much sense, these seem like introductory interviews, as in, you have to do one before you start the program.” Rhodey offers.

“You’re awfully quiet over there, Rushman” Tony says. “Penny for them?”

“Something about this whole thing feels wrong.” Natasha says. “Why is it taking him so long to send this video? Why isn’t Rebecca in the file system at all?”

“You don’t think he has her.” Tony states. He’s had the thought before, niggling the back of his mind. “You think he’s bluffing. I wouldn’t put it past Maya to lie.”

“I think he’d do anything for a cure, and that his move is to use Bucky.”

“ _Was_ to use Bucky,” Rhodey says, saving Tony from having to.

“See, that doesn’t add up, either. Why kill him? He was perfect leverage. And now he’s just trying to use his sister?” Natasha says, frowning.

“Well, it was an accident, right?” Steve chimes in, leaning against the desk. “The person to go get him couldn’t regulate.”

“I think if I had one last chance to get my product to work, I wouldn’t use the faulty product that might _kill_ the guy I need to solve all my problems.” Natasha says. “No, I’d make it look like that, to throw my enemy off his game, but still have the leverage I need to get what I want.”

Tony’s not going to allow himself to hope that Bucky still might be alive; the future wave of inevitable disappointment might just kill him. “Whatever it is. We are definitely headed into a trap.” Tony says instead.

“We’ll just have to be ready. How many soldiers are there, JARVIS?” Rhodey asks. Tony finds it endearing that he knows how to use him so well.

“ _According to the logs, there were a little over one hundred separate interviews. Without knowing the success rate of Extremis, it’s impossible to know how many survived.”_

“Ok. Worst case, there’s about 100 super powered individuals waiting for us in a trap.” Steve says. He looks to Rhodey. “I assume you’re coming, sir?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. And none of that ‘sir’ shit.” Rhodey says with a nod.

“Then it’s five of us against an army of super soldiers.” Steve says, like he’s talking about a neighborhood basketball game. “It’s going to be a little tight, could really use a hulk or lightening God right now, but I think—”

“Did you forget about my backup plan?” Tony cuts him short. He knew this day would come.

Steve frowns. “You said you had about 40 of them.”

“I must have misspoken.” Tony grins, always one for a dramatic reveal. “I have _one_ back up plan, and it consists of 40, completely autonomous, fully powered Iron Man suits.”

Steve levy’s him an impressed look.

“That might help.” Natasha quirks her lips.

“That’s what you’ve been up to all this time?” Rhodey says.

“Everyone needs a hobby.” Tony shrugs.

“Ok.” Steve’s voice had transformed into Captain America’s, and Tony finds himself listening. “We suit up. As soon as we get in contact with Killian, we head there in the Quinjet. Our mission is to rescue and regulate Rebecca and any others in the program, incapacitate as many soldiers as possible, and infiltrate their systems and wipe out any copy of the Extremis formula.”

“I haven’t come up with a cure yet, because I only have three PhD’s, not seven. But, because I’m actually an engineer that only moonlights as a scientist, I have a couple trojans lying around that could probably wipe their servers clean, assuming there’s no hardcopy backups.” Tony adds.

Steve looks constipated.

“I have a thing that will wipe out any copy of the Extremis formula.” Tony sighs.

“I can implant it.” Natasha says.

“Ok. Good. Now—”

“ _Sir!_ ” It’s JARVIS’s you-need-to-hear-this-right-now, voice. The room pauses.

“ _Mr. Barnes emergency locator card has been activated.”_

A heavy pause.

“How. Where.” Tony flips around and JARVIS brings up a map, one blinking, beaconing light located in—

_“Miami, Florida. Address on screen.”_

Tony can’t believe this, he refuses to. But it’s right there, plain as day.

“What is that?” Steve says.

“I gave Bucky… Holy shit. I gave Bucky an ‘in case of emergency’ beacon. It’s the size of a card, and it’s just been activated.” It had to be him. But it couldn’t, but who else would…

“We need to get to that, now.” Natasha says.

“We’re still waiting on—” Steve starts.

“Well you can go ahead and fucking wait, Steve.” If there’s even a _whiff_ of a chance…

Tony jumps into action, rolling his seat across the room to another terminal to prepare the trojan.

“I’m with you, Tony.” Rhodey says, and Tony is flooded with gratefulness for this man.

“We all are.” Steve decides. “There’s a chance this might be the trap, but there’s no way you are going in alone. Let’s move out. Nat, is Clint…”

“He’s suited up, I’ll send him to the jet.”

“Tony, your suits…”

“Should only take a few minutes to get the house party started.” Tony says. “I’m prepping the trojan.”

“Wheels up as soon as everyone is at the jet. No one is going anywhere alone.” Steve reiterates, and he joins Natasha and Rhodey in the elevator to get everything ready.

As the code compiles, Tony looks at the blinking dot on the screen.

He gives in to hope.

“If that’s you, if that’s really you…

“I’m coming for you, Bucky.”


	10. Pheonix Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why wipe a hard drive when you can _overwrite_ it?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent one week writing 95% of this chapter, and then I spend the second week on three paragraphs of it. Writing is bizarre.
> 
> Your comments have floored me. Each one has moved me to write more and fight to write better. I love that ones that detail your thought process, or go into what your are thinking in the chapter, cuz i like seeing my work received. ya'll are wondrous :)
> 
> My straight male friend, who's foray into sex is mostly vanilla, but who has decided to support my writing career, has started reading this. If you have made it here (you know who you are), i'll buy you a coffee.
> 
> I want to formally apologize for being late! Once a week is a slightly too lofty goal for me, especially with school. This chapter was also painstaking, yet beautiful to write.
> 
> Minor Warnings: Fire, mild body horror, the mind fuckery that comes with the Winter Soldier.
> 
> Enjoy!

The bald man pressed the gun to the back of Bucky’s neck as he led him through the hall, down a set of stairs, and to an peculiar kinda sub-basement, all dark brick and high windows, an odd contrast from the rest of the beachy mansion. The room was spacious, yet sparsely filled, mostly with computer screens and several men with guns mulling about the room. They tense at the sight of him, some grabbing hand guns, others waving their hands wearily over their holsters.

In the center of the room a man with blond hair to his shoulders was typing into a computer animatedly, smiling slightly to himself and whatever is on the screen. It was the same man that was walking down the hall earlier, Bucky notices. It has to be Killian.

“Sir.” The bald man says, shifting and pressing the muzzle of the gun against Bucky’s head, jerking his body forward.

Killian turns, but only spares Bucky a glance before going back to the computer screen in front of him. “And when did you get out of bed?” He says, like he’s speaking to a petulant child.

“What have you done with Rebecca?” Bucky demands with a false confidence. “The _real_ one, not that, that other woman.”

“You know, you sound like a broken record sometimes.” Killian sighs. “It’s always the first thing you ask when you get like this. ‘Where’s Rebecca? Is she okay?’ Blah, blah, blah…”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bucky demands, his voice coming out strained more than demanding.

“I guess it’s a good sign, in a way, that you always ask about her when you get like this.” Killian continues, ignoring Bucky’s outbursts. “It’s consistency in design. Reliability.” Finally, Killian spins in his chair and turns to face Bucky with strange smile.

 “See, when you start to ask about Rebecca, it means you’re due for a reset.”

Bucky flinches hard at the last word Killian says, the full body shudder so violent the man with the gun takes a quick step back.

Killian chuckles. “Oh and I just _love_ that reaction too. One of my favorite parts of this song and dance. They must have done something _real_ bad to you back then, for sure.” He laughs and stands from his chair, stalking toward Bucky with a powerful confidence in his step. “Don’t worry. We’ve changed up the program a tad. The term reset’s a bit… outdated now.”

Killian glances around the room and makes a face. “Calm _down_ soldiers, he’s not going to do anything.” He smiles offputtingly at Bucky. “He can’t. Come on, he’s on our side. Guns down, _relax_.”

Slowly, the soldiers lower their weapons around the room, yet Bucky notices that the one next to him, despite taking a step back, is still tense, finger playing dangerously with the trigger as it points to the ground.

“Now, here’s where things get interesting. _Usually,_ when you first start seeing her, you report yourself.” Killian muses.

“I’ve… I’ve done this before?” Bucky asks. His thoughts were warring, too many different stories conflicting in his head. He doesn’t know what’s right, what’s wrong. What is, what isn’t.

Killian laughs. “Oh yes, many times over the past year and a half. This is the first time you’ve been so… unstable about it. Something happen you wanna talk about Bucky?”

Bucky keeps his lips sealed. There’s no way he’s—

Killian sighs. “Tell me why you didn’t self-report, Bucky.”

Compulsion crashes over Bucky, frantic and distressing and all-encompassing; every part of him screaming that if he didn’t open his mouth right now, and tell Killian what he wanted to hear _right now,_ his worst, most terrifying nightmare would come true, that he would fall into hell and stay there, that he would we be ripped apart and put back together and remade—

“I did.” Bucky gasps out, his mouth moving without his permission. “As soon as the dissonance occurred enough to affect my functionality, I reported to my handler.”

God, what is he _saying_?

It was like his mind was acting without his permission, moving his mouth and pressing air past his vocal cords to make him say those words. Like the way you breathe without even noticing you are breathing, like answering Killian’s request with these particular words was as natural as inhaling another breathe, happening whether Bucky was aware of it or not, completely in the background, an ingrained, necessary instinct that his brain had learned to survive.

 Killian backhands him, and Bucky’s face whips to the side in shock. He doesn’t react other than that. Doesn’t know if he can. “You _didn’t_. How are you lying to me?” Killian narrows his eyes. “Let’s set the scene, shall we? You were in your office, working. Maya said you had complained of headaches. Then, you turned all the lights off, said you had a migraine, and sat in the dark for hours like a mental patient.”

“This didn’t… did this happen?” Bucky starts to feel dizzy. He has no memory of any of what Killian was saying, of getting a migraine in his office. Rebecca used to get migraines. She…

“Then you burst out of your office with your head in your hands. Nearly gave Maya a fright, that’s for sure.” Killian snorts. “Kept muttering to yourself. Rebecca, Rebecca, _Rebecca_.” He nearly growls the last word. “So sick of hearing about _Rebecca_.” He mutters.

“This never _happened._ ” Bucky says with more energy. His head is starting to hurt. The soldier behind him twitches.

“Then you left. Went completely dark. We thought you were on your way to us, yet you didn’t show. Where did you go Bucky?”

Bucky’s jaw wrenches itself open, words pouring from his mouth without his consent. “I reported to my handler.” Bucky says.

Killian backhands him again, this time the other way. At least he has the decency to make the pain symmetrical, Bucky thinks crazily.

“You. Would you _quit it_?!” Killian says, but he’s not looking at Bucky, instead pointing at the soldier beside him. Bucky realizes he’s aiming his gun directly at Bucky’s head, his fingers tight and his body radiating intensity.

“I know what he’s capable of.” The soldier responds.

Bucky wonders what he’s capable of.

“You also know what he _is_.” Killian turns to Bucky. “The new update might be a little buggy, but the source code hasn’t changed for seventy years.” Killian smiles slow and sick. “He couldn’t hurt me if he wanted to. He’s _not allowed.”_

The soldier seems unconvinced.

“Always the new guys.” Killian mutters, rolling his eyes. “Watch. Bucky, sit down.”

Bucky takes one leg and crosses it front of the other before sinking to a seat on the ground.

Bucky starts to feels sick.

“Bucky, stand up.”

Bucky places a hand on the ground and uncrosses his legs, rising to standing.

Tears begin to form in Bucky’s eyes, the actual, physical display of his own inability to consent finally nailing in the true depth of control Killian had over him.

“You never cry this fast before either.” Killian snorts. “Did all that sex make you soft?”

“What did you do to me?” Bucky says quietly. “Why can’t I…”

“Ha, I made a joke.” Killian carries on. “Maybe I’m asking the wrong question. That’s thing about machines, only understand basic commands. You just do what I tell you, huh?”

“Yes.” The compulsion responds, using Bucky’s voice to do it.

“Where did you go after you left the office that day?” Killian commands.

Bucky tries to suppress the words, but every moment he fails to obey, the compulsion crashes into him exponentially harder. He barely lasts a few seconds before the words rush from his mouth.

“Stark Tower. I had to report to my handler.”

Any trace of amusement fell from Killian’s face. He strides towards Bucky, grasping a hand under his chin tightly and pulling it up towards his face.

“Explain.”

“I had a hallucination, which is a sign of a dissonant memory.” Bucky says. “So I went to my handler to self-report.”

Killian’s eyes widen in shock.

“And who is your handler?” He says, disbelievingly, maybe already knowing the answer.

The next two words shock Bucky more than they shock Killian.

“Tony Stark.”

Killian reels back and punches him. Bucky takes a faltering step back and cradles his bleeding nose, Killian much, much stronger than he was expecting.

“ _I_ am your handler.” Killian shouts. “I am! Not that… that bastard _Stark_.”

Yes and no, the compulsion tells Bucky in his own head. Bucky starts to get it.

“What the fuck did he _do_ to you?” Killian spits.

Bucky feels the compulsion try and respond, but ever so slightly less strongly now, not quite as all-encompassing.

“He took care of me.” Bucky says. And, as good as it felt to do things right, to do as he was told, and to follow directions and avoid punishment, it was _much_ better to do all that _and_ be praised for it in the end.

Bucky doesn’t think he’s ever had aftercare before.

“He—oh you’ve _got_ to be kidding me.” Killian says and then he laughs, full bodied and disbelieving. “He took care of you? Oh, this? This is too good. Sugar daddy Tony Stark, buying you suits and groceries, paying your rent so that you suck his cock.”

Bucky’s face feels hot, but he’s not embarrassed. It’s his nose stitching itself back up.

“You know, I’m not surprised.” Killian says. He moves, walking back to his desk to grab something off the desk. He logs back into his terminal. “You want to know why we picked Rebecca, Bucky?”

“Rebecca.” Bucky says. “Where’s…?”

“We picked her because you _loved_ her Bucko. See, she was everything to you, back when they first got you. She was the first thing you remembered after a reset— _there’s_ that lovely flinch again—the first thing to come back after you were out too long, the last thing to go away. We picked her because she was all over your head. She was the strongest thing there.” He turns his chair towards Bucky again.

“Should you be telling him all this?” New guy says wearily, though his gun was lowered now. The rest of the soldiers had gone to a passive position as well, keeping Bucky in their sights.

“He’s not going to remember.” Killian says, offhand. “It’s a good way to practice my speeches. Judge the reactions.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, slowly but surely piecing together something in his head. He doesn’t let himself think too much, in case Killian asks him what’s on his mind.

“See, there’s only so many times you can wipe a hard drive before it looses it’s ability to store things properly. And that’s what happened to you, Bucky. They wiped your memory. Zapped your mind with thousands of volts, until one day they zapped you and you started drooling. They _broke_ you.” Killian smiles. “Leave it to the Soviets to use brute force over smart design. I mean, have you seen their rockets?”

Bucky has had too many shocks today. He feels like he can’t even react to the new information anymore, just letting the words wash over him, storing them for processing later.

“Anyways, we had a wonderful idea.” Killian claps his hands together and faces Bucky, a smile on his face. “Why wipe a hard drive when you can _overwrite_ it? And so, with a little smarts and a little ‘borrowed’ tech from someone much, much further in development on this than us, that’s exactly what we did.

“We let you sit and drool, let your memories trickle in like a leaky faucet. And every time a memory came back, we convinced you it happened to someone else. In this case, Rebecca. Brilliant right?

“Rebecca was the most important person in your life, so she was all over your brain already, lighting up most of your neural structures and making your mind all sticky with endorphins. It was easy enough to cross a few wires with our fancy new machine, and get your neurons to fire just differently enough so that the memory became something else.” Killian says with pride, as if he’s not talking about removing the entire life of a person from their own head.

“Every time we needed to change your story, we put you under, opened you up, and crossed the wires of the memories we wanted you to forget with the memories of Rebecca to make something new and unique to you. What makes it so effective, is that your brain creates the memory itself in its natural need to rationalize your existence, and nothing is more believable than something you think you thought up all on your own, is it? We just changed who it happened to, but in the end, it was you, fitting her into your timeline, like she was there all along.

Bucky tries to think about any of his memories of Rebecca, and tries to imagine them happening to himself. He can’t.

“Of course, it’s not perfect. While yes, overtime, the plasticity of your brain overwrites your own memories so that you could improvise memories of Rebecca yourself—the perfect sleeper cell, sometimes your brain would remember two things at once, creating an extremely disconcerting cognitive dissonance.” Killian smile dims. “Usually, you self-report and we stitch you back up. This time though, that didn’t happen.

“But, it makes sense that you went for Tony like that, because you’re the kind of guy that likes to take care of people, if all that shit about your sister in your head is to go by. And anyone with a brain can see Tony Stark is a broken man that desperately needs someone to help him. He was made much, _much_ more broken upon your death, by the way, thank you for that. That was just icing on the already delicious cake. The plan was to use you to get Extremis from him, but no one really expected him to start fucking you.” Killian cackles.

“You’re sick.” Bucky finally breathes. “You… you’ve… everything I know… You took advantage for my love for my sister and used it to control me! And you made it look like I was dead just to see Tony hurt? You are a sick, _sick_ monster!” He shouts, and he wants more than life itself to beat Killian, kick his legs out and pound his skull, but compulsion whispers no, no, no.

“You know what our plan was after you got Extremis from him?” Killian grins, sharp and wicked. “To make you kill him in his sleep.”

“I would never!” Bucky gasps out. “You couldn’t make me. I would stop it. I… I _love_ him.”

“Cute.” Killian snickers. “But no, you don’t.”

“But…”

Killian rolls his eyes. “Sputnik.”

Everything goes black.

 

 

 

Tony is the last person to make it to the Quinjet, swooping in still-a-prototype Mark 42. As it takes off into the setting sun and rockets towards Miami, Tony drops the flash drive with the Trojan in Natasha’s hand, too geared up to sit, too vulnerable to take off anything more than the helmet. He’s never felt like such a human before.

“I have the stabilization but not the cure yet.” He announces to the four others. “We need to watch out for people that didn’t actually sign up for this mess, those are the ones that are more reluctant to fight, that actually wanted a cure and are just roped into this mess.” Tony says.

“Good point, Iron Man.” Steve says, giving a nod towards Tony. “From what we know about the formula, these people will be strong. The only way it looks like to stop them is by stopping their heart or damaging the brain, something that the body won’t be able to ever heal from. One shot kills are ideal, to avoid them activating Extremis. Other than that, knock them out cold.”

“I have one set of handcuffs that can reach several thousand degrees and can stand up to a Hulk.” Tony hopes, he’s never had the chance to really test it. “Saving those for Killian.”

“I agree.” Steve says. “Everyone sit tight for now, we have forty five minutes.”

Tony grits his teeth. Forty five minutes. If he were to do it himself in the suit… If he were to go himself, it would only take him twenty one.

(It takes him a full two seconds to do the math. He’s distracted, sue him.)

That’s almost twenty five minutes for Killian to drug Rebecca. Twenty five minutes of living in limbo, wondering if Bucky was really alive. Twenty five minutes of sitting on his ass, thinking about how he’s always cleaning up his own messes.

“You and Bucky were close.” Tony blinks as Natasha’s voice registers, and he turns towards where she’s sitting at one of the seats that line the jet. Steve and Rhodey are nodding over strategy at the front, Clint was piloting with focus, pressing the jet to its limit.

“Well. Yeah.”

“You’re relationship was a bit more than what it seems though, wasn’t it? I mean, I’ve never actually met the guy.” She says, smiling a secret smile.

Tony appraises her suspiciously, wondering what she was getting at.

“I saw him, kneeling for you, all tied up.” She clarifies.

Tony sighs and steps out the suit. He going to have to sit down for this. “I should stop having sex in the penthouse main room.” He mutters.

“I didn’t know you were capable of a relationship like that.” Natasha says, looking impressed.

“Hidden depths. But you know all about that, don’t you?” Tony says with a twisted smile.

“Touché. All I’m saying, as someone familiar with that lifestyle, that having that outlet like that. It can help.” Natasha says.

“Yeah, well, look how much good it did.” Tony snorts.

“You were better, with him. Not by a lot, but the short time you were with him, you were more focused.”

“Careful, ‘Hawkeye,’ your observational skills are showing.” He responds, but he has to admit, he respects the candidness of her assessment.

“I’m actually near-sighted.” Natasha shrugs.

“So you _do_ give out personal information, huh? I’m honored. I don’t even know how you like your coffee, but now, I know you’re near sighted.” Tony says, his sarcasm dry and dull.

She’s still eyeing him though. Christ. Apparently, she hasn’t said what she needs to say yet. “When we get Bucky back—”

“If we get him back.” Tony warns. “I don’t need… I can’t pretend like…”

“If we get him back.” Natasha acquiesces, and she must get it, if the look on her face is any indication. “Talk to him?”

Tony sighs with weight. “I saw my relationship collapse with Pepper after the alien invasion.” Tony starts, rubbing his face with his hands. “She couldn’t handle the person I became after that. Paranoid, anxious, stuck in a death spiral. Yet, she stayed, looking more and more upset by the day.”

Tony looks up from his hands, staring across at the empty seats across the plane, the whirr of the engine straining at top speed filling his ears. “I knew from the first time I asked her to change the arc reactor in my chest that Iron Man was going to be too much for her. She said she could handle me being Iron Man, but… I knew I was only going to get more and more involved, get put in more and more danger.” Tony feels every year of his age on his body, right now. “And she doesn’t deserve that. She deserves someone who comes home in one piece, who can sleep through the night. That’s why I left her.”

Tony addresses Natasha directly, who was watching him speak with an expression that was bland like manila. “Bucky was a vice. He was a necessity. That’s all. A—A tool. A means to an end. I paid him, and used him, in a way he happened to like. But, I got addicted to it.” He has a lot of those. Addictions. “I shouldn’t have kept him after that first night. He didn’t belong in my world, and I selfishly thought I could keep him out. I won’t make that mistake again.”

Natasha nods slightly, before arching an eyebrow. “You think you’re going to be able to let him go like that?”

Alcohol, sex, drugs, revenge, Tony’s been leaning on vices ever since he could remember. He knows the answer to Natasha’s question.

“It doesn’t matter, because he’s dead.” Tony says, short and hollow. “Cap, what’s the plan?”

 

 

 

 

Bucky hears Rebecca scream, late at night while he was sleeping in her chair.

 

 

He slams into her room to see her sprawled out over the bed, the sheets twisted in knots, sweat soaking the fabric.

 

 

And Bucky

 

 

Understands now.

 

_“Do you know how disconcerting it is to think two opposing things about who you are at the same time?”_

 

 

He rips back the sheets. The person had long hair curled around their shoulders, had the strength and frame of a soldier, had a metal arm.

 

 

_“It’s cognitive dissonance. The brain can’t survive in that state.”_

 

 

The man on the bed owned his face, but was not Bucky. The man on the bed was a phantom.

 

 

_“It has to accept one as the truth or it will rip itself apart.”_

 

 

The man’s eyes snap open, slate gray.

 

 

Bucky slams his fist into his face.

 

 

 

Bucky Barnes wakes up into his dream world again, feeling like he’s drifting on the water. There’s a strip of black cloth covering his eyes.

It feels like a subspace.

Bucky listens to the waves, and finds, deep in the ocean, that feeling of compulsion, a monumental force represented by the endless sea Bucky is floating on, moments from drowning him in case he disobeys.

Bucky wonders if the reason he’s a submissive is because he’s been controlled, against his will, for seventy years. Wonders if his memories of his past sex life were memories of orders given by old handlers. Wonders if that’s why he finds the idea of having a choice, of consenting, to be so far-fetched.

He’s fucked up, that’s for sure. An amalgamation of parts and programming from years and years of use. The original man he may have been, might have been, is probably long gone.

Bucky doesn’t care, he decides.

It’s his now, he decides.

All of it.

The compulsion, the subspace, the broken down memories, the incomplete thoughts, the fire under his skin, the hallucinations, the sleep paralysis, that little word that makes him fall asleep, all of it.

It a fucking mess, sure. But it’s all he’s got. And he’s gonna _fucking own it._

Here’s what Bucky knows.

That feeling of compulsion wants Bucky to obey. Bucky himself just wants to be taken care of. Tony gave him a little slice of both of those, and in some twisted way, promoted himself to being Bucky’s handler. Which is why Tony was able to cut through all the other’s control.

And, ok. Tony told him what to do during sex. But Bucky did it because he _wanted_ to, not because he had to. Because that little part of him that wants to obey is in some ways his. So nothing he ever did with Tony was non-consensual. It _couldn’t_ have been. Never, with Tony, did Bucky feel so much as a whisper of the heavy wave of compulsion taking over his body, not in the way Killian used it. The little part of him that survived all this time… that is what chose Tony to be his handler. It _had_ to be that.

And he was strong. Powerful. Even more powerful than those soldiers, and Bucky thinks they are fire people too. He knows this because they were afraid of him.

But the most important part about all this?

Is that Tony has a higher “authority” than Killian.

And Bucky is going to fight back, even if it means burning down every last person in the house.

The strongest memory Bucky has of Tony surges forth from Bucky’s head, vivid and crystal clear, and so, so real.

_“…sometimes I thought…” Bucky swallows. “I got that feeling that if I safeworded, he’d ignore me.” Bucky says.  “It wasn’t bad. It was just a feeling, you know? I didn’t actually safeword in the scenes, and it’s not like—”_

_“But you should never feel like you can’t Bucky.” Tony says, and even without looking at him Bucky can tell how strongly he feels. “Ever. You always have a choice.”_

_Bucky closes his eyes. “You make me feel like I do, Tony.” Bucky says quietly._

_“Good. And that will never, ever change. You have a choice.”_

He has a choice.

_He’s not allowed to move._

He always has a choice.

‘ _Conflicting orders. Default to higher authority.’_ Says the compulsion.

Finally, _finally_.

Bucky wakes up.

He strips off his blindfold and gets to his feet, and stands and stares and blinks without purpose, gazing blankly at the wall in front of him. Because, for the first time, Bucky doesn’t have a mission. He wasn’t woken for someone else’s use, and he doesn’t know how to use himself. And for a brief, significant moment, Bucky cowers, and what he wants more than anything is to give away that brand new terrifying responsibility that comes with the prospect of freedom.

But as the moment stretches, another feeling, smooth and dark, engulfs that cowering figure in his chest, at first gently, and then all at once, until he’s bursting with it. It’s bitter and enticing like molten dark chocolate, both beckoning and urging and so, so, hungry.

It’s a feeling born in the chest of those attempting to reclaim themselves after violation, a finger twitching, teeth chattering rush created from thinking and acting in a way contrary to others, that earth shaking exhilaration making a choice for the first time in your life.

And Bucky, more than anything in the world, want to burn this mansion to the ground.

Maybe it’s the right thing to do, maybe it’s the wrong one, but it’s what he’s doing. The only thing that matters is that this decision was made by Bucky’s own brain. This is what he feels, and this is what he wants, and he can have it, because _he_ says he can.

Suddenly, Bucky feels power rushing through his body, like a mental dam prohibiting access to his true self had been loosened. He realizes, as energy thrummed in his veins, that this is the power they attempted to control. This is the power they _fear_. Not just Extremis, no. This was the power of _choice_.

He feels it now. Feels the fire, licking him from the inside, desperate for escape. He strokes the flames and they roar back, filling him up to the brim with its raw, elemental nature, attempting to rip itself from his body and rein lawless havoc on the world around.

Bucky, who has learned today he has a choice, has also learned he is _strong_. And Bucky fearlessly grabs it, harnesses it, bends it to his will.

He doesn’t let it erupt _from_ him, rather, he makes it burn _with_ him. He pushes it to the top of his skin, watching as his fingers and hands started to glow, his whole body started to heat. He pushes until he sets his clothes aflame, until they were nothing more that ash. And he wants _more._

He wants more, and because he wants more, he makes more. He pushes, glows brighter and hotter, the orange going yellow going white, until the room starts to warp, until the table starts to droop, the metal dripping like water on the ground. Until, the machine, the one that made him sick and afraid and enslaved, was just plastic on the floor, and the fire in Bucky—no. Bucky’s fire. _His_ fire, roars in approval.

This is what is feels like to unmake things. To do to others what was done to him.

Bucky walks to the door of the room and emerges into the hallway, walking and setting fire to anything and everything he sees. The flames lick outward, eager and willing to burn. Everything in Bucky’s path is faced with a decision: to obey him and ignite with Bucky, or refuse and melt and become unmade. Men and women try to fight back, their skin trying to glow, feebly attempting to match his strength, but he is much stronger, and burns much hotter, and pushes the fire from his skin outwards until they are forced to retreat or succumb to the thing they created.

In minutes the whole mansion was aflame, collapsing to pieces around him. The top floor had crashed into the bottom; the walls had crashed into each other. The inferno had risen upwards as the building fell downwards; the flames taking flight from death. Here he was, resurrected by fire like the tale of the phoenix, the walls of his prison crumbling around him as he is reborn at its center, free, and new, and young, and _his own_ , rising like the sun from the ashes of his captivity.

And then he falls through the floor.

 

Stealth is the plan, which, according to Cap means no Iron Man suits, as if Tony can’t keep quiet in one. Tony’s managed to park his suits at an old property he forgot he had in Florida, not too out the way, because a military jet landing stealthily a few miles out is one thing, but an army of iron man suits is quite another. The jet was parked in a small clearing in otherwise thick brush, the last vestiges of the sun glinting off the windshield as Tony tried to find a place to strap his gun in.

Tony had almost hit Steve when he suggested Tony didn’t go, as the only one without high level combat training, and it took the power of Rhodey to stop Tony from losing his (uncharacteristically) short temper.

“I don’t think he meant anything by it. He doesn’t know you, man.” Rhodey says as they prepare themselves, quietly, before beginning the trek to their destination. Tony knew that, but a traitorous part of his mind is starting to think he is emotionally compromised. It was easy to think Bucky was dead, dealing with that failure with the skill and deftness of someone who’s had to wipe up a lot of his own messes. But the thought that Bucky was alive? Hope always means uncertainty, and uncertainty always means exhaustion. If Tony wasn’t numb to the bone, he’d probably be feeling his anxiety tying its ropes into knots across his body, pulsing with the beat of his heart.

“He should know I’m capable of fighting.” Tony shoots back without any heat. He trips over a branch and swears, as he is forced to right himself on a tree. At the order of Steve, Clint had gone ahead to find some high ground to try to get an aerial view of their target, rushing into the woods with skill, eying the trees like he was finding the best one to climb. Which he probably was.

 _“Iron Man, how long will it take for your reinforcements to get to this location?”_ Captain America’s voice cut in through the com in Tony’s ear.

“Less than a minute, Cap,” Tony responds, cutting off the communicator short so that they don’t hear his panting as he half jogs to keep up with Rhodey.

“ _Eta?”_ Steve asks. “ _Widow and I are three minutes out.”_

 _“_ We’re about a quarter mile out, Cap, no more than five.” Rhodey says.

“ _I’m in position.”_ Clint’s voice pipes up.

Tony swears under his breath as he gets his foot tangled in a particularly difficult plant, and he has to pull at with all his strength, nearly crashing into the ground when it finally comes loose. Rhodey carries on walking through Tony’s struggle, but he’s grinning to himself, that asshole.

“You go hiking a lot Tony?”

“On _trails._ Not through thick, inhibiting wilderness. Why do you always walk so fast?” Tony grouses. He swats at a bug that’s been following him since the jet, wings making a hungry sounding buzz. How do people go outside without Iron Man suits? This is _terrible._

“ _Roger.”_ Steve’s voice come through the coms, a whisper. “ _Hawkeye, what do you see?”_

“ _Looks like a party, Cap. Our target’s a mansion, heavily fortified. Iron Man and Patriot are headed towards the southeast side, Captain and Widow, you’re approaching from the west. I spot three on the roof, seven or eight outside on the southside of the building, and three on the west, but it looks like Cap and Widow are going to have to swing through a window to get in. There are probably much more on the other side, so I recommend keeping current approach. Lots of movement; looks like something’s going on.”_ Tony’s impressed at the thorough report, remembering that that chill guy that spends most of his time making shitty jokes and watching TV was an incredibly competent spy.

 _“You want me to stay up high or come in close, Cap?”_ Clint says.

_“Can you shoot from that distance?”_

A snort. _“I can shoot from any distance.”_

_“I’d rather have you for sniper support then, stay up high.”_

_“Aye, aye, Captain.”_ Clint responds.

“I usually reserve that one for Fury.” Tony pipes up.

“ _Ooh, ooh! Guess what Fury’s favorite letter is?”_ Clint says, excitedly

 _“_ Lemme guess, argh _?”_ Tony responds dryly.

 _“You would think, but it’s actually the sea!”_ The com cuts off Clint’s self-satisfied laughter.

Since you have to hold the button down in order to speak into the communicator, Tony knows it was on purpose that Steve lets his heavy sigh come through. “ _Let’s keep chatter on the com to a minimum, please.”_

 _“Holy…”_ Clint says, his tone suddenly serious. “ _Guys, the mansion just caught fire! They’re evacuating.”_

 _“I’m seconds away from having a visual.”_ Steve responds.

“ _I’ve never seen anything like this, it’s like—first, nothing, and then, in seconds, half the place is in flames.”_

The same time Clint says those words, Tony feels a sudden rush of heat, like when the doors to his tower open and he walks from the climate controlled inside to the overbearing heat of the outside, on those New York summer days.

“ _Looks like they’re retreating too. Change of plans—Iron Man, how close are you?”_ Steve says

“Tree line’s coming up in a minute Captain, feels like we’ve hit a brick wall of heat.” Tony comments. He’s still moving, and as the trees start to dwindle, he catches glimpses of orange and yellow light shining like a beacon in the dark.

“ _Enemy is evacuating into the back lawn, eyes away from us, making a nice circle of targets, Cap. I’d say about 90.”_ Clint says, eagerness in his voice.

 _“Iron Man?”_ Steve asks his question without asking.

“Oh, JARVIS?” Tony sing songs. “Are we ready?”

“ _Operation house party, sir?”_

“On the good Captain’s command.” Tony says easily, and he catches Rhodey’s surprised look from his side.

“It makes sense for him to command the order to strike.” Tony says only to Rhodey, shrugging off the fact he just gave a significant bit of his own control to Steve. “Our rides are coming with them, get ready for a pick up.”

Rhodey gives him a suspicious look, the one he usually gets when Tony is being slightly too responsible, but Tony just gives him a cheeky grin.

“ _Alright.”_ Captain America commands. “ _Avengers—”_

“And Rhodey.” Tony pipes up. He’s finally made it to the tree line.

“ _Att_ — _oh, uh, and Rhodey. Uh, Colonel Rhodes, sir. Not sir. Iron Patriot. Sorry. You too.”_ Steve clears his throat, and Tony just about chokes with laughter, graciously offline. Rhodey shakes his head at Tony, as Steve collects himself.

“ _Avengers and Iron Patriot! Attack!”_

Moments later, Tony’s babies burst from the trees, coming in hot with repulsor blasts and ninja moves, overwhelming the group with surprise and numbers. After the first fifteen or so go down, they’re enemies adapt quickly, and it become a full on battle.

Steve and Natasha had run in from the trees to attack on the side, Steve nearly evenly matched with the Extremis soldiers, but not letting it him slow him down in the slightest. Natasha and Clint were working as a team even from however far away Hawkeye was perched, Natasha trusting her long term partner to have her back, and assist without asking, oddly beautiful.

“Our rides are here, sweet cheeks.” Tony says as two of the suits break off from the commotion

“… And when did you make my suit autonomous?” Rhodey asks as he jumps in.

Tony feels the suit enclose around him, no longer feeling like a vice or a prison, but like an extension of himself. He responds through the communicator in the suit, feeling like he’d just gotten home. “It was always autonomous, Patriot. ‘Just in case.’ Don’t take it personally.” He says before blasting his way through the trees.

The work isn’t quick, but it is effective. Tony makes an active effort to keep his hits non-lethal, but it’s extremely difficult because damn, these guys were strong _._ He decidedly avoids killing any female, and is wasting valuable time checking their faces for anyone that looks remotely like a female version of Bucky, on some off chance he can rescue Rebecca

The setting is quite bizarre, the dark night in the sky, the mansion an inferno of flame, casting the battle in an almost intimate lighting, the fire of the background reflecting off the skin and eyes of the Extremis powered individuals, the sounds of repulsor blasts and explosions and short, panting requests for backup over the coms. After knocking out a particularly difficult burnet with the help of one his babies Igor, and carefully checking her face to no avail, he grunts with frustration.

 _“_ I’m going to check inside _.”_ Tony decides, and swoops off towards the mansion.

It’s an odd flashback to just days ago, when Tony was climbing through rubble, trying to save lives, searching for Bucky. Tony hopes that he’s more successful this time.

There isn’t much left, the fire burning through most everything. There’s no longer an upper floor, and the lower floor was collapsing on itself into the ground. He scans everything searching for life signs.

“ _Sir,”_ JARVIS says, only to Tony, “ _I’ve optimized myself to recognize Extremis level body temperatures. In the basement, there is one that is much hotter than the others.”_

“Killian.” Tony growls. “Find me a safe way there.”

JARVIS scans the environment and takes over piloting the suit, weaving him around obstacles and, at one point, flying straight through the ground to a basement, holding up slightly better than the rest of the mansion, but not by much.

“Stark.” A voice says as he lands in the room, lit up hot and yellow in the light of the fire. Tony takes over seamlessly as he turns to face Aldrich Killian, looking crazed as all his work collapses around him, the hellfire behind him painting him in a silhouette, his body orange, absorbing the heat around it.

“Where is she?” Tony demands. “Where is Rebecca?”

“Where is—” Killian cuts himself off and starts laughing, manic and out of control. “ _Rebecca?!”_ He laughs even harder, nearly falling to his knees.

“What did you do with her!” Tony says forcefully. “Maya told us your plan, you were going to shoot her with Extremis.”

Killian gives a wide-eyed, insane look to Tony, smiles much too wide.

“Rebecca is _dead_.”

Tony feels another failure scab over his heart.

“She died _years_ ago.” Killian says. “Years, and years, and years…” He trails off, muttering to himself.

Tony frowns. “What the hell are you talking about?” He shouts.

“You don’t even understand.” And Killian laughs again, gesturing wildly.

“You’re insane.” Tony says, more to himself. Maya was right; Killian’s lost his mind.

“He was supposed to follow _my orders,_ and, of course, _it’s_ _your fault_!” Killian roars at this, flames licking at his heels.

“It’s _your_ fault Tony! I don’t know what you did, but fuck, neither do you, do you?” Killian giggles, and Tony’s pretty sure he’s having a mental break right now. “You have no idea… no _idea_ what you’re dealing with. _Who_ you’re dealing with.”

So there was another player in this game? The buyer? Tony needs to get him out of here; he’s starting to have a bad feeling about this. “We’re going to take you into custody.” Tony says. “You’ve, clearly, been under a lot of stress. You’re definitely running a fever.”

“There are so many other forces at play here.” Killian warns. “You have. No. Idea. What’s coming. None!”

“Whatever you think’s going to happen, I can handle it.” Tony says, and, would you look at that, Tony actually believes that.

Because, as he takes the sound of his suits’ repulsor blasts overhead, the distant clang of something that could only be Captain America’s shield deflecting off metal, Hawkeye calling out over muted coms ‘two more down,’ and Black Widow asking Iron Patriot for a pickup, he knows he can.

Because despite everything, he is Iron Man.

“ _The Avengers_ can handle it.” He corrects. It’s time to finish this. “Put your hands behind your head. JARVIS? Can you spare a couple suits? Gotta madman to lock up.”

_“For you sir? Always.”_

As the suits land, reaching for Killian with the Extremis proof handcuffs, Tony realizes, too late, that Killian’s got one last play.

His body starts to heat, the orange glow that was omnipresent already on his body growing to a yellow, then to a bright white. He opens his mouth and it’s in his throat as he speaks. “I’ve been perfecting Extremis for a long time, Tony.” His voice sound ragged.

Tony curses as the temperatures sensors in the suit go haywire, and he flies upwards, which only helps a little with the fire still burning overhead. He curses more when he realizes Mark 42 _still_ doesn’t have weapons capability.

“And I’ve never failed to regulate. Not until now. And I burn much, much hotter than anyone here. You know what that means?”

Tony tries to call the suits on the ground to fire, but they’re too overheated to function properly, and Tony has to fly even farther back when he realizes they were actually starting to _melt._ He calls for more from JARVIS, calls for help from anyone, but no one who is capable of an assist is close enough to make it in the next few seconds.

“It means this blast is going destroy this whole _godforsaken_ house, and your whole _precious_ team.” He lets out a final laugh, one last inhuman sounding thing. “Goodbye Ton—”

Killian speech is suddenly cut short, and Tony holds his breath in shock. The next moment, blood bursts from his throat, a thick metal pole poking straight through his heart, the metal yellow with heat, slowly curling itself downwards. Killian coughs again, and then again, then collapses to his knees, the chain reaction in his body halting and turning backwards, the room cooling.

From behind him emerges a figure in from flames, naked and orange, embers sparking off his body, and Tony thinks that he’s finally lost it, that he must be hallucinating, because there’s no way, there’s _no way—._

“Tony?” Bucky breathes, and he walks forward, hands and chest spattered in blood, orange glow under his skin fading rapidly.

Tony drops to standing on the ground gracelessly, the world fuzzing to nothing but the man in front of him, completely ignoring JARVIS’s warning that it was still too hot to be this close to Killian. Bucky walks towards him and Tony lets him, frozen at the sight of the ghost in front of him.

“Tony.” He says again, more assertively, and a small trembling smile takes root on his face as he steps close to the suit, eyes level with Tony’s, and Tony can’t believe it to be true, can’t believe he was here, the flesh, that he was actually allowed this.

 “Tony…” Bucky’s voice is full of hope and desperation and relief and exhaustion and something more, something else Tony was no longer afraid to see.

And Bucky’s body starts to shake, and Tony’s desperately trying to break down the suit to get to him, but it won’t _let_ him because it’s too hot, so he flies them out of there, to the farthest place on the lawn he could get, farthest from the fight that was now more of a drag and drop of unconscious bodies, and he collapses the suit to pieces and wraps his arms around tight around Bucky.

“Oh _,_ _Tony.”_ Bucky says with his eyes squeezed shut, and then Bucky’s crying into his shoulder, his body jerking with each sob, his largeness carefully hunched, each part of him particularly placed, like he was afraid one wrong move would hurt him.

“Bucky.” Tony finally breathes back, his voice cracking in two separate places, his body shaking with the effort of… effort of it _all._

The name has new meaning now.

Before it meant care, it meant control, it meant being able to manipulate something small and make it into something beautiful, when so much in his life was ugly.

After the explosion, it meant self-hatred, it meant failure, it meant another thing Tony didn’t deserve that he got anyway and destroyed with his own selfishness.

But now, it means the things that Tony thought didn’t exist, the things that Tony was ashamed to have sought out, the things he never felt worthy of asking for.

It means miracles. It means second chances. It means _forgiveness_.

With Bucky in his arms, Tony’s world starts turning again.

He peels himself back and looks into Bucky’s tear stained eyes, and Tony isn’t even conscious of himself moving his hand up to his face, placing his palm against his cheek in the way he thought he’d never get to do again.

Bucky holds his wrist gently, skin much too hot to touch, but Tony didn’t feel it, didn’t _care_ , and Bucky curls his face into his hand, gently pressing a kiss to his palm.

Tony was so, _so_ wrecked.

“Tones.” A soft voice comes from his right, and everything comes rushing back all at once. Tony inhales, all soot and ash and smoke, and he feels like he’s just taken a breath for the first time in his entire life.

“Rhodey.” His voice was sturdy and broken, all at the same time. “This is Bucky.” He pulls his hands away from Bucky’s skin, belatedly realizing his wrist and fingertips are burned.

He points towards the man in the metal American flag suit. “Bucky, this is Rhodey.”

Bucky’s tears are sizzling on his face. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” He says quietly, voice hoarse and low. He crosses his hands in front of his dick. “I, uh, usually don’t dress like this.” He says.

“I certainly don’t mind.” Tony says back, and Bucky gives him a wild grin that Tony gets lost in, drowning in the feeling of unexpected familiarity, trying to soak up as much of that smile as he could until he was finally full.

“Ok. We have a lot to talk about, but first? _Oh my God_.” Rhodey says, head swinging back and forth between the two. “You _fell_ _in_ _love_ with a _hooker_.”

Bucky snorts and laughs, more than a little hysterically, tears coming to his eyes staying this time as he finally cools down.

Tony grins at Rhodey, alive, and bright, and finally fucking happy. “Only me, right?”


	11. Left Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m sorry.” Bucky says, and then, considering his research professor is actually in leagues with a supervillain and his entire reality has turned out to be false, as well as the fact his sister isn’t actually alive and he’s a hundred year old sleeper cell that can create fire when he’s stressed, _and_ he's in a rather unsteady BDSM relationship with a billionaire sugar daddy, he adds: “I’ve got a lot going on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so I about two months ago I got diagnosed a few mental illnesses, which is a good thing because it means I'm finally getting treated. But what I didn't realize is in order to find an anti-depressant that works for me, I have to try one for a week, hope it works, and if it doesn't, ween off of it for another week, and try another one. I've been through four medications, each giving me a different side-effect that's left me out of action, and it's stretched me so mentally thin that I couldn't even begin to touch this emotionally heavy story.
> 
> But I wrote a lot of light-hearted porny one-shots, so feel free to check those out :)
> 
> Anyways, now I'm on something that seems to work, and we are past the two week mark, so yay! 
> 
> The last chapter of this beast of a story is too long, so I've split it in two. I'll post the next chapter probably next weekend, though its may be late because of thanksgiving, which is a US holiday where we eat a lot of food because a long time ago native americans gave europeans a lot of food cuz they didn't know how to farm, and the europeans gave them smallpox in return. oops?
> 
> Warnings: mixing of benzos (anti-anxiety medication) with alcohol, which is extremely dangerous and can lead to death. Don't do this.
> 
> Enjoy!

Tony’s a man of follow-through.

So when SHIELD arrives right after the last body falls, he helps clean up the mess. When they search the charred remains of the mansion for intel and survivors, he’s also there too, picking up broken and melted rubble. And, when they need help breaking into the last remaining computer system, he does it, saving himself a little backup on the side.

Well. His suits do it.

Tony himself takes Bucky to the Quinjet and wraps him in an orange blanket and sits with him until his eyes fall closed in his lap, cradling a bottle of water. He slides a hand through his hair a few times and Bucky makes a soft noise, and he holds him until he falls asleep.

Natasha boards after what could have been an hour, a portion of her hair burned off, and does a highly uncharacteristic double take at the sight of Bucky in his lap.

Tony glares at her. “I get I’m not the most lovey-dovey in the world, but that reaction seems to be pretty drastic.”

Natasha collects herself. “Hidden depths,” she says as Clint follows her in, limping and singed, toting a first aid kit behind him.

After that Steve and then Rhodey arrive, and Rhodey grins as he catches sight of them, clapping him once on Tony’s shoulder.

They take off, Tony suits in a line behind them, and everyone, luckily, leaves Tony alone with his thoughts.

And as they fly back to the tower in the night, Tony’s thoughts all say the same thing:

_This is my fault._

 

 

 

Bucky wakes up from a nightmare he can’t remember in a room he doesn’t recognize, gasping at the ceiling. He struggles to sit up, fighting with his sheets as he scoots up on the bed, and for one terrifying moment he’s unable to recall who he is.

A hand laid gently on his shoulder brings him down to earth, and Bucky turns to look in the worried eyes of Steve. “Bucky. It’s alright.” Steve says from his chair. “You’re in a room on the Avenger’s floor of Stark tower in New York. You’re safe.”

Bucky has a thousand things he wants to say, but he only manages to choke out the word: “Tony…?” Before he cuts himself off. He doesn’t know what question he wants to ask, and so he tries to push them all into that one word.

“He’s alright.” Steve says. “He’s…” His hesitation is telling. “In the tower. He’s going to be alright.”

“Well which one is it? He’s alright or he’s going to be?” Bucky snaps like a weak rope, the two torn edges unravelling. He immediately regrets his shortness when Steve’s expression shutters, and takes a deep breath and backtracks.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky says, and then, considering his research professor is actually in leagues with a supervillain and his entire reality has turned out to be false, as well as the fact his sister isn’t actually alive and he’s a hundred year old sleeper cell that can create fire when he’s stressed, _and_ he’s in a rather unsteady BDSM relationship with a billionaire sugar daddy, he adds: “I’ve got a lot going on.”

Steve holds his gaze for a moment before sighing, slumping uncharacteristically low in his chair. “To tell you the truth, I’m not quite sure where he is. All I know is after he got off the jet, he just disappeared somewhere, and JARVIS won’t tell us where.”

Bucky bites his lip then tries to regain some footing. He manages to takes stock of himself, noticing he’s wearing soft pants and a shirt.

“Did someone _dress me_?” Bucky changes the subject abruptly.

“I did.” Steve says. Bucky gives him a grin and a playful, suggestive look.

“Don’t get cocky, Bucky.” Steve says with a straight face, and Bucky barks out a laugh.

He rips the sheets off his body and goes to stand. “Well, you want to get something to eat? I’m sure someone has leftovers. Or we can order something?” It would be nice to establish some normalcy after the last couple of days.

“We can order.” Steve says, standing as well. “But…” he sighs, “you can’t leave the room.”

Bucky frowns. “What do you mean I can’t leave?”

Steve’s face pinches.

Bucky frowns and takes two steps towards the door. Steve takes four in response, cutting off Bucky’s path towards the exit.

All of Bucky’s earlier traces of levity vanish. “What the hell is this Steve?”

“It’s not my idea, Bucky.”

“But it’s happening, isn’t it?” Bucky crosses his arms. “Who’s keeping me on lockdown?”

Steve sighs.

“It wasn’t you, so it’s…it’s not…” Bucky has a terrible thought. “It’s not Tony, is it?” Bucky says, voice suddenly small. Had misread how Tony felt about him? Or was it the fire thing? And, fuck, how is he even going to begin explaining anything else to him if this—”

“It’s not Tony.” Steve says quickly. “Absolutely not. In fact, I think Tony would absolutely hate this.”

Bucky drops his arms. “Then _who_?”

“It’s SHIELD.” Steve says with growing contempt, not for him, in his voice. “They think you’re dangerous. I told them you’re not,” he assures quickly, but Bucky’s heart starts to sink. “They want to bring you in. To DC. To make sure everything’s… okay” Steve finishes lamely.

Bucky deflates. “Well, fuck.” He says, because he’s pretty sure that’s the easy way of Steve telling him he’s being surrendered to the mercy of the US government. Probably the only reason he’s not there now is because Tony took him back first.

But he gets it, because, well. They’re right. According to SHIELD, he’s a big fat unknown. How did he survive the fire—was it Extremis? Or did they think Killian gave it to him when he was kidnapped? And why would they keep him alive anyways, but not use him as leverage?

 “ _Fuck_.” He says again, because it dawns on Bucky the severity of his actions, that he probably killed people in that mansion. How many innocent people died because of the explosion at his apartment, and how many other lives were lost that he didn’t even know about? He should be surprised that they hadn’t brought him in quicker.

Bucky bites his lip and looks down at the floor. He just has to tell the truth, right? Tony would make sure nothing happened to him… right? If Tony ever looks at him again after this, that is. Hell, if Tony decides he’s _not_ a complete and total menace, Tony’s going to think Bucky’s been coerced the entire time they were together, and the implications of that? Of Tony who lives and breathes consent, even with his one night stands?

Bucky goes to sit on the edge of the bed, and Steve follows a gentle distance away, looking worried.

Another part of him wonders what would happen if SHIELD heard his story and thought he was too dangerous to see the light of day again.

“Hey.” Steve shakes Bucky out of his thought process. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You’re innocent in all this,” Steve says, “and SHIELD is a good organization, founded on good ideals.” Steve gives him a steady look, not once wavering. “And I know your character, and that’s what matters. You’re not the kind of person who would hurt anyone.”

Steve places a hand on his shoulder, and Bucky looks up at him, absorbing the resolve in his stance and the earnest expression, the sheer desire to do the right thing displayed clearly and openly on his face. Bucky breathes a shaky breath, fears not disappearing, but beginning to absolve.

“You’re a good man, Steve.” Bucky says, and then, to his dismay, he starts to cry.

Steve’s eyes go wide and he sits next to him, and for one moment between sobs Bucky sees him flounder, before he gently lays an arm across Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky doesn’t turn into the embrace, yet appreciates the steady hand anyways as he cries for what feels like hours, everything coming up all at once. The hatred at what he is, the fear for his future, the destruction he caused, fuck, he _killed a man_ , and for Tony, who isn’t here, and Bucky doesn’t want to think about why.

Steve holds him gently, rubbing his back until it all comes out, until Bucky’s left empty and withdrawn and cold and lonely.

He mumbles into Steve’s shoulder and escapes to the bathroom, leaving the door open so Steve can watch him as he splashes water on his face, as he stares into the reflection of a man he doesn’t know.

He comes back a few minutes later, ignoring Steve calling for him and curls up on the couch, quietly asking for JARVIS to turn on the news, please.

Food is delivered to the room at some point, a large breakfast of eggs and sausage and _of course,_ orange juice, but Bucky doesn’t touch any of it. He just sits and stares, overwhelmed to the point of nothing, one too many things having happened to him. Sitting and waiting as his brand-new free will is snuffed out like a candle.

Tony said he has a choice, right? That he always has a choice. Then how come he feels like he’s being exchanged from one master to another?

 

 

 

Hours later, there’s a knock on the door. Steve goes to open it, making a show of putting his back to Bucky, as if to say to Bucky ‘look: I trust you.’

Behind the door are two people. One is a doctor, who specializes in cases like his, cases of ‘extranormal powers earned under unusual circumstances.’ Bucky thinks that it’s fucked up they need to have doctors like that. The second is from the agency SHIELD, who says, firmly, that he is going to be moved to DC, until such a time they deem him not a threat to society. Bucky thinks that it’s fucked up she didn’t phrase it as a question.

Bucky doesn’t even have things to pack. Everything burned in the fire. He’d been wearing old clothes that Steve had lent him. He knows he has no power here—he has no identity.

He’s got one last chance.

He asks for a moment with Steve and they acquiesce.

“What’s going to happen to me, Steve?” Bucky says from the sitting room chair.

Steve looks worn-out. “You’ll go with SHIELD and they’ll hopefully be able to help you. Prove to everyone you’re not a threat.”

“What if they can’t?”

Steve silence says it all.

“Do you trust them?” Bucky asks.

“They’re a spy agency. They manipulate and keep secrets, but they do it for the greater good.” Steve says tiredly.

“So, no.”

Steve says nothing.

Bucky digests that. “I wanted to get my PhD.” He says quietly. “I wanted to change the world. Make a prosthetic arm. Understand the brain a little more. That’s all I _ever_ wanted.

“And Tony.” Bucky brushes a hand through his hair, which Bucky guesses is fireproof now. “I love Tony.” And that’s true. The only thing that’s true. The only lifeline he has left. “Maybe… maybe things moved fast, but I don’t think there’s anyway I could be wrong about this. The way I feel, it’s…” Bucky stops short. He starts over. “When I first met him, I wanted him because of who he made himself to be. Considered it a challenge to break down his walls, just to see if I could. But the further down I got, the more I realized that I wanted to help him. He’s in pain, Steve, but he’s a good man. And by God if I can make him see it, then I would have done the best thing I could ever do on this planet.

“I don’t want to go Steve.” Bucky says firmly. “And I don’t think it’s right that their making me. And I know you don’t think so, either. Hell, my desires are innocent enough, aren’t they? I don’t want to fight anyone, I don’t want to hurt people. I just want…” Bucky looks up at the ceiling, wondering if he focuses really hard, he could see Tony through the concrete. “I just want to go home.”

Steve gazes at him for a long, long time.

  


 

 

Tony fixes things, but he can’t stop them from breaking in the first place, which is why, on the Quinjet, Tony decides to leave Bucky.

He leaves him after he laid him down in a spare bedroom, kissing him on the forehead gently. He took the elevator down to the basement workshop, locked the door, and told JARVIS to enact the “Don’t Bother Me Unless the World Is Ending” Protocol, which was one of his less creatively named protocols, but most strict.

Of all things Tony _could_ be doing, he’s actually sleeping for once, exhaustion hitting him so hard he can barely strip out of his clothes before he falls into his camp bed downstairs. He wakes hours later, groggy and disoriented, before taking a long shower and dressing himself, killing a DUM-E smoothie as he lifts the protocol.

JARVIS, of course, politely tells him he has about thirty messages when he does, but Tony politely ignores them and lets Rhodey into the shop, knowing he’d be behind that door the second JARVIS tells him that the protocol is over.

And it’s a testament to how well Rhodey knows him that he takes one look at Tony’s face and guesses right.

“You’re gonna leave him, aren’t you.” Rhodey says as he walks in, stepping away from the cars lined up on the right, gathering dust.

“You don’t think I should?” Tony’s sitting at his desk on the other side of the room, trying to figure out how to mass produce the cure without giving it directly to SHIELD.

“I think I just watched you get third degree burns just to hug a naked man.”

“Kinky.” Boy does he miss Bruce. He was much better at biology, plus, he’d been meaning to talk to him about one of his ideas…

Rhodey rolls his eyes. “Man, I’ve given up on trying to tell you what to do, but I will say this. On the jet ride over, when he fell asleep on your lap? I have _never, ever_ seen you with a look like that on your face.”

Tony wonders if Bruce will ever come back. He’s got such low self-esteem, he needs someone to—

“So you’re gonna do like you did when you left Pepper, huh? Gave her the company and the entire west coast, what are you gonna give him?”

Pepper. “Pepper was diff—”

“I know, Pepper was different. She’s not into…whatever you’re into.” Rhodey waves his hand. “But you still never gave her the choice. And you’re taking that choice away from Bucky, too.”

“Because he’s going to choose wrong Rhodey. And I don’t know if I can stand another failure right now.” Tony says quietly.

Rhodey approaches Tony’s chair, and Tony gives up on working, leaning back in his seat.

“You’re going to kill yourself going on like this Tony.”

“Better me than him.” Tony says, ignoring the way Rhodey’s eyes crease with worry. “It’s better this way, sweetheart. Hungry? There’s more smoothie. Not half bad this time.” He deflects.

“Yeah, it’s _all_ bad. Grab the elevator, JARVIS, take us to the penthouse.” Rhodey says, and he kills the conversation there.

And that’s the best part about Rhodey, Tony thinks as they step into the elevator. He knows when to push and when not too.

He steps into the penthouse, nodding over to Natasha and Clint, who were using the table as an impromptu barber shop. Clint is currently cutting Natasha’ hair super-short, which she somehow manages to rock just as hard, if not harder, than her long bob. He’ll have to send a picture to Pepper to give her ideas.

He and Rhodey head to the bar immediately, and it’s almost normal for a moment, like Bucky was just at home and Tony was waiting for him to arrive, a well-planned night in front of them. Clint tries to get Tony to order a pizza, not knowing that most pizza places were typically closed at eight in the morning, while Natasha gripes at him to pay attention to her hair. Someone’s put frozen waffles in the freezer, and Rhodey sticks two in the toaster as he goes searching for the peanut butter. Tony crinkles his nose, and orders a real breakfast, not whatever atrocity Rhodey is trying to make, which gets delivered right as Clint puts the final touches on Natasha’s pixie cut.

Tony pours Rhodey and him tequila sunrises, a drink Rhodey will never, ever admit to liking, and makes a game about counting the band aids on Clint’s body as he eats his eggs.

The illusion shatters abruptly when the elevator arrives and Steve walks in, still dirty and in half uniform, deep in argument with the Deputy Director of SHIELD.

“Steve, he’s dangerous.” Maria Hill says with crossed arms.

“Bucky wouldn’t hurt us.” Steve says back.

Tony’s eyes snap up at his name.

“How can you know?” She implores. “Something suspicious is going on. Romanoff said so herself. We need him to be separated from the world. Protected.”

Tony taps his burnt fingers mindlessly against his glass, frowning at Natasha from the bar seat. She has the blankest of her blank faces. What did he miss?

“You want him contained.” Clint speaks up after a moment, chair leaning precariously on two feet. “You’re gonna figure out what he can do, and you’re gonna use him.”

“And he just told me he didn’t want to fight, or hurt people. He said he wants to help people, to do his research.” Steve says, before rounding on Tony. “To be with you _._ ”

Tony manages not to flinch, partially because he’s halfway to drunk again. Tequila this time, so it hurt. “He’ll be safe. I’ll make sure of it.” Tony says. He's already got his phone out, and he manages to text JARVIS to text his PA to get people to look into apartments in Manhattan. He tries to remember the name of his old contact at Columbia that can help Bucky jump start his research. If not Columbia, Tony’s sure Bucky would appreciate the upgrade to MIT.

“We’ll set up times with him to meet with the doctor. We’ll figure out his capabilities. We will debrief him, and let you know of any and all new information.” Steve says firmly. “But he doesn’t belong in this life.”

“He’s a _threat_.” Hill implores.

“We all are. Difference is, he’s a civilian, and we know him.” Clint says, shrugging. “Also, just want it to be known that I never got this treatment after I was brainwashed. I was just hit in the head real hard, given a pat on the shoulder, and told to press on. We should be treating civilians better than me at least.”

“Is that what you really think, _Agent?_ ” Hill turns her eyes towards Clint, and Clint’s chair drops down the ground with a thud.

The emphasis doesn’t go unnoticed, and Tony suddenly feels like he’s in a custody battle. The room turns to assess the two SHIELD employees; Clint’s eyes are calculating, but Natasha, oddly, looks miles away.

Then, Clint turns his eyes to Hill and says: “That’s what I really think, ma’am.”

Tony pauses in his next sip from his glass. “Really?”

Clint looks at Tony. “I think he’ll be in good hands, _here_.”

Feeling caught out, Tony moves the glass away from his lips.

“You have to understand, SHIELD can’t just release someone with an unknown amount of power to a civilian life.” Hill sighs.

“You did it with Thor.” Steve says.

“And where is he?” Hill says

“Actually, yeah. Where _is_ he? We could have used him.” Tony says.

“You think _you_ can control that guy?” Hill says.

“Oh, so it _is_ a control thing.” Steve counters.

Hill pinches the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “What do you think, Agent Romanoff?”

Tony holds his breath, because of all the Avengers here, she’s the only one who hasn’t let her opinion be heard yet.

“I think… he’s dangerous.” Natasha says, and Tony’s heart drops to the floor. “A lot of things don’t add up. So I think he should go to SHIELD, with one of us as an escort, to get checked out and debriefed.”

He tone sounds off when she speaks, and her words are careful, like each took effort to think about, place, and say. Tony frowns, and is about to say something when she continues.

“But _after_ , if everything turns out okay, he has the right to go wherever he wants to go. He’s not a fighter.” She finishes, and Tony sighs in relief at that.

“Great. Someone escorts him to DC, and by the time he comes back, everything will be as close to normal as possible.” Tony concludes.

“That was not what was—” Hill starts.

“Or Stark Industries can pull all of its contracts from SHIELD.” Tony says casually. “How about that?”

There was a pause as the threat settles.

“You don’t want to make enemies out of us, Stark.” Hill says lowly.

“Ditto.”

“It doesn’t have to come to that.” Steve says, looking between the two wearily. “Tony already has a way to stabilize, and SHIELD just needs a statement, right?”

There is another pause, this one with more tension, then Hill cedes. “ _If_ Mr. Barnes is cleared by our people, then I expect check-ins from both of you,” she points at Natasha and Clint, “every week.”

“Good.” Steve decides. “Tony, you’ll escort him?” Steve asks.

“Actually, no.” Tony says. “I can’t.” He struggles to come up with a lie.

Steve frowns. “Why?”

“I’m… getting surgery.” Tony says. He’s not. Well, not yet. He’s been putting it off for some time, but he guesses now is as good as ever.

Tony pokes his chest, and the metal of the arc reactor rings back. “Consultation. Can’t miss it.” Next to him, Rhodey mutters ‘dumbass’ into his drink.

Steve’s expression smooths out somewhat, but he still looks mildly troubled. “I’ll go then.” He says.

“Great.” Tony says, walking towards the elevator. “Anything else? I’m just gonna…”

“Bucky’s awake if you want to go see him.” Steve offers kindly.

“Okay. Good.” Tony says, as he steps into the elevator.

 

 

 

Many times Tony finds that his brain has solved a problem without being consciously aware of it, which is why he so often talks as he works, in an effort to get it out of his head. He was a chatterbox until Howard beat it out of him; then he would only speak when he was sure he was alone. But when he was alone, he was free, free to build things and fix things and put funny things under the microscope Aunt Peggy bought him for his 4th birthday.

Unfortunately, his overactive subconscious didn’t limit itself to math and science and engineering, it also extended to a complicated array of emotions that began to grow with his awareness as he aged. His childhood became a swirl of fear and anger and hate at a displeased Howard, resentment and worry for his (mentally) absent mother, bitterness at the isolation given by having Stark as a last name. It built up inside of him until he was choking on it, until Jarvis would come into his room and tell him to breathe, Tony, in, two, three…

Then Jarvis died, and then his parents died too, and Tony was alone. And after two, then three, then seven nights waking up, still drunk from the night before, alone on the ground in his shiny new Boston apartment, he learned the unfortunate fact that he can’t survive living alone.

Luckily, Tony knows how to make things. He built himself some friends, left bugs in their code and called it personality, gave them simple tasks like cleaning and cooking microwave meals (DUM-E had been downgraded to the blender after the fire of ‘04) so that Tony could have time to work on ‘just a rather very intelligent system’ that was designed to remind him to breathe.

Of course he met Rhodey, and Tony started to act slightly more like a person again, his unwavering loyalty still throwing him for a loop to this day.

Then he had Pepper, who he was the only PA who stayed, and who could call him on his shit, but she wasn’t built for what he needed, and was too gentle to stay.

It didn’t matter, because by then had already fixed the problem of his anxiety. He had figured out how to catch himself when he fell, feel like he was taking care of something. He had already decided he was content with loneliness, the occasional itch to take someone down drawing him to dungeons that couldn’t give two shits who he was. He fell into his role as Tony Stark™ and became the man everyone expected him to be, and coasted by, chasing vice after vice, building thing after thing, and remembering to breathe.

And then Afghanistan.

And then New York.

And then Bucky, Bucky, Bucky.

He thought it was a lovely Bucky enjoyed submission, was for hire, and was really as attractive as he was, and he certainly should have known better. But he attached anyway, thinking that just _maybe_ he could have just one living breathing person. Just one.

And then he nearly got him killed. He had _actually_ killed a whole block of people. And that slap in the face was much too much this time.

But he’s an addict, and he knows that, left to his own devices, with Bucky so close to him, he’ll seek him out on his own. Already in the elevator he’s hesitating, wanting so much to see him again, hold him close and swear to him he’ll protect him. But he can't protect him—he’s proven that already—so he steels his resolve and tells JARVIS to take him to his office. There, he strides to his desk and digs out a rarely opened orange bottle labelled Xanax and a half full bottle of his “I fucked up” scotch.

He takes one pill and swallows down a shot of the whiskey, then sits down next to a bamboo plant and stares out the window, waiting for the haze to envelop him.

It’s Steve who finds him, maybe a half hour later.

Privately, Tony can’t believe he’s not passed out yet.

“Tony.” Steve says his name like it’s an entire sentence, looking at him with the worst kind of pity, and Tony _knows_ Rhodey told him.

“Did you know, a week ago, was the anniversary of my parent’s death?” Ah yes. That. Looks like Tony’s brain has one last thing to say before Tony shuts off. It’s running faster than his drug addled consciousness can keep up. Tony wonders if people with an IQ below 200 have the same problem.

Steve walks to him carefully. “I’m sorry.” He says after a moment, clearly not sure what to do with that information.

Tony waves him off. “I made my peace with it.” He says.

Steve nods towards the bottle of scotch. “Have you?”

“That’s not why I’m drinking. Had years to deal with it. Dad was gone all the time, Mom was checked out, really wasn’t that much of a difference.” Addiction runs in families. Mom preferred Klonopin over Xanax though.

“That’s a little cold, isn’t it?” Steve says, frowning, expression tightening.

Tony shrugs. “ _You_ haven’t dealt with it.” He says, avoiding the question.

Steve shifts in his stance and looks out the window, as if he could see what phantom Tony was looking at. “It’s sad, but I honestly didn’t know Howard very well.”

“But you know the Commandos, right? Haven’t been to any of their graves, I’m sure of that.” Tony turns looks Steve right in the eye as his gaze snaps back to him. “How about Peggy?” Tony’s filter free and mentally disassociated enough that he’s again latching on to the giant problem of Steve, trying to fix something he’s not qualified to fix.

Tony pours another finger, toeing his drink limits, as Steve closes up immediately.

“When did this become about me?” Steve says. “This is about you giving up on yourself, about how you’re currently running away from Bucky. Leaving him. _Failing_ him.”

 _I’m failing Bucky by being with him._ “You need closure Steve.” Tony says, ignoring everything Steve’s saying.

“You don’t know anything about me, Tony.” Steve grits out. “Stops trying to change the subject.”

“Oh, but I do understand. I get what it’s like to have everything and nothing. To have no one to look out for you, no one to trust. Been there. Hated it.” Tony says. “Bucky’s great, isn’t he? Reliable, and eager, and kind. Bit of a romantic. Maybe it could have become something, who knows? That kind of loyalty is rare to find. You have someone like that, you become a different man.”

Steve crosses his arms. From the angle Tony’s sitting, it should make him look big and scary, but it actually makes him look defensive and young. What is he, twenty five?

“Don’t talk about Bucky like he’s in the past. You’re taking the coward’s ways out.”

Tony shakes his head at the thought of Bucky. “I’m doing what needs to be done. He was just a hired helper.” He says, “and for his safety, he should—"

“He is _much_ more than that and you know it. I know it, everyone knows it.”

Tony grits his teeth before struggling to his feet, careful not to splash any of his drink on the ground. “You know you’re not okay. I know it, everyone knows it. You’re not doing anything about it, are you?” He taunts back. “I mean, I’m fucked up too, but at least _I’m_ functioning. At least I’m working out a system. You? You’re spinning your wheels. We’re trying to drag you into the future, but you’re still staying the in the past.”

“Because I don’t want to be here!” Steve says, then thinly veiled anger surfacing like a fish jumping at a line. “Alright? Is that what you wanted to hear? I want to go _home_.”

“But you _can’t_ go home Steve. You have to figure out how to make a new one.”

Steve shakes his head. “Oh, like you did? Dropping everyone who cares about you?”

“Talk about dropping people, I can’t believe you _still_ haven’t gone to see Peggy. I though you loved her—”

“ _Enough!_ ” Steve says, pushing forward. Tony takes a staggering step back and gets caught by the bamboo plant. He spills his drink, yet doesn’t drop it, as he rights himself with the wall, the plant crashing loudly into the ground.

“She talked about you all the _time_ , Steve.” Tony says, and emotion begins to bleed into his voice like a wound. “She told me about an angry man from Brooklyn who refused to let the world fuck him over. She told me about the man who made Captain America. Where is he now?”

“Dammit—I don’t have to explain myself to you! To any of you! And—God, I don’t understand!” He shouts. “Why are you investing so much time and effort into me, why are any of you? It’s not like someone else can throw the shield, if the symbol of Captain America is so important. Why won’t you let me just go?” Steve’s words are frustrated and hard. Jagged.

“Because if Captain America can’t do it, no one can.” Howard’s words fall from Tony’s mouth.

Steve sets his jaw. “I’m not ‘Captain America’, I’m just a kid from—”

“Kid from Brooklyn, heard it a thousand times, Steve. Don’t you see that _that’s_ what important?” Tony implores. “You stand for something. For _everything_!” He shouts the word so hard he wobbles.

Steve’s mouth is shut, and Tony’s presses his advantage, emotions gripping him suddenly and completely as they fight through the ever increasing haze.

“If anyone else took up that mantle, if anyone else got that super soldier serum, Captain America would not exist. Plain and simple. You think those dime a dozen soldiers that signed up looking to fight would have picked up a shield instead of a gun? Any of those soldiers disobey an order and save the entirety of the 107th? Hell, I doubt any of those men would have signed up for the music tour because they were too prideful, just wasted the serum lifting things in a factory like a parlor trick. Yet you did all that, because you wanted to do the right thing so _badly_ Steve.”

Steve’s staring at Tony with a jaw shut with cement, expression hard, eyes shining, like these words physically hurt him to hear.

Tony continues. “Howard would tell all these stories of you like the sun shone out of your ass.” He says with slight bitterness. “It was all about the flawless soldier, the ideal man, all this ‘perfection’ garbage. You want to know where my favorite stories of you came from? _Peggy_.” Tony closes his eyes for a moment. Alzheimer’s is a bitch.

Steve inhales sharply at her name, then exhales, a desperate, shuddering thing. He looks so exhausted, so alone. Steve doesn’t know how to build himself some friends, not like Tony does.

“She spoke of the man that would stop at nothing to beat up bullies, who believed in the future, who would do anything and everything he could until every last Nazi sonofabitch was in the ground. That man who she spoke of, who gave me _hope_ —”

God. _God._ Tony reel it _back._

He shoots his whiskey to cover himself, but it’s too late. Steve’s face had gone soft, and he understands now.

Tony schools his face. Lowers his tone. “Captain America may have become a symbol, but that symbol was created by you, and _is_ you, and forever will _be_ you, no matter who might take up the mantle after you. Captain America is Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers is Captain America. And right now? The world _severely_ needs a Steve Rogers.” He finishes.

 _I need a Steve Rogers._ Tony thinks. _Don’t you see?_

Steve nods, slowly and gently, eyes soft and sad and resigned again, Steve reaching the other end of the teeter totter of anger and sadness he’s been riding for probably much longer than he lets on. “It’s not fair.” He says quietly. “To put that on me.” He looks like a man that wants to give up on everything, but can’t.

Tony turns away.

“There’s only person on this team allowed to be this mentally fucked, okay?” Tony says, “And I’ll be damned if I let it be you.” He sinks to the floor, last emotion spent, left with nothing but a cool pit to pour his scotch into.

“Okay, Tony.” Steve says, and Tony doesn’t know if he’s managed to convince him of anything at all, doesn’t care to think about it, not now. “Okay.” He says again, and he turns, and he leaves, and Tony’s last thought before he succumbs is simple: he really, really wishes that Bucky were here.


	12. Wrecking Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So you know this whole ‘I’m toxic and everyone should stay away’ schtick that you keep up all the time Tony?” Pepper says as she strides towards him in frighteningly tall heels. “It’s old. And I don’t know about you, but I’m sick of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started writing this story, I asked myself "Who is Steve, without Bucky? Who is Tony, _with_ Bucky?" And now, I realize those questions really boil down to: "Who the hell is Bucky?" Funny, huh?
> 
> This chapter is long, and has a lot of moving parts. I should also remind you that this is written in a style where you can only tell the thoughts of the person who is speaking, and not of who is listening :)
> 
> There's some computer programming wordplay going on halfway through the chapter. For those who don't know, very, very basically, an 'exception' is caused when computer program is asked to do something it can't do. For example, if you use a calculator and try to to divide a number by zero, the calculator program 'throws an exception,' and give you an error message. This error message is because the person who programmed the calculator had 'caught' or 'handled' the exception by writing a line of code that says 'if the user tries to divide by zero, don't do it, and instead give them an error message that says "you can't divide by zero".' If a programmer doesn't 'handle' the 'exception', the program crashes. (It's not super important, but it kinda explains how JARVIS is thinking at one point in the story.)
> 
> And holy ship, ya'll are some of the nicest gosh darn people I've ever met. Your comments and acceptance on the last chapter, and on this whole fic, have been remarkable. You guys have given me such a boost as a person and a writer, and I'm looking forward to seeing you again on more fics in the future. Thanks for sticking with me on this almost-100,000 word journey!
> 
> Enjoy!

Bucky is interrupted by a knock on his door, which is surprising given he’s not allowed to leave. He unwraps himself from the tangle of blankets he’s made on the couch and walks to answer it.

Behind the door is a pretty redheaded woman, the one that’s on the Avenger’s team. She’s dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, and she has her hands resting casually in her pockets. When Bucky opens the door, she looks up, and her face breaks out into a shy smile.

“Hi,” she says, reaching out one of her hands, “I don’t think we’ve officially met. I’m Natasha.”

Bucky can’t help but smile back. He takes her hand and shakes. “Bucky Barnes, ma’am.”

“So I’ve heard.” She says, dropping his hand. “I just wanted to apologize for the treatment we’ve been giving you, being locked away in a tower and all.”

“It’s alright,” Bucky says, leaning against the doorframe. “I feel like I’m barely a prisoner. You know, like I’m in a corporate prison, where they have nice food and butlers and unlimited channels. It’s nice.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about corporate prison, but I suppose there’s worse places to be.” She says.

“Would you like to come in?” He offers, not forgetting his manners.

“No, no, thank you though, I only have a minute. I came to meet you, officially, and also tell you that the team had a chat, and we decided that if Steve and Tony trust you, so do we. So the plan’s changed a bit.”

Bucky’s eyes brighten at the mention of Tony. “Is Tony coming by soon? Do you know when I can see him?”

Natasha frowns. “He hasn’t been by already?”

Bucky’s heart plummets. Natasha must see something in his gaze because he expression softens.

“He’s just dealing with a lot right now.” She qualifies.

“He’s avoiding me on purpose, isn’t he.” Bucky states more than asks, and Natasha grimaces.

“He’s being a child.” She says, apology in her voice.

Natasha continues. “We did negotiate a much better solution involving your debrief with SHIELD. Steve will escort you to a jet, and you’ll be sent to DC for some medical checkups and a formal debrief, which should only last a day. After than you can come back and get your affairs here in order.” Her face pinches in sadness, as if Bucky’s situation is somehow her fault.

“Thanks so much for everything,” Bucky says quickly. “For the whole saving me thing, too.” He winces a bit. He’s never been saved before, and isn’t quite sure how to say thank you without sounding insincere.

“It’s what we do.” She brushes it off with a smile. “When you come back, Steve and I can help you with some stuff to get your life back. If you can, could you supply us with information regarding your insurance? Fire, renters, stuff like that.”

“Oh, yeah.” He hesitates. “Yeah, I actually don’t know… if I have those…” He trails off.

“Oh, no problem, you don’t need it now or anything.” Natasha says. “We’ve talked to the police already when we were investigating the scene, apparently the landlord has been handing back security deposits to help with the crisis.” She says earnestly. “I can check and see if they have yours, I know that he’s not doing it for much longer.”

“Thanks, that’s… that’s really nice of you.” Bucky says. “Yeah I haven’t even thought about any of that stuff with everything that happened.”

Natasha gives him a sympathetic look. “Of course, we’re on your side, Bucky. Do you mind me asking your full name so I can get the check?”

Bucky smiles back. “Thank you. And, uh, yeah, it’s James. James Buchanan Barnes.”

“Great!” She smiles. “Steve will come by any second now. Until then, you are still on, quote on quote ‘lock down.’” Natasha says. “Only because we’re not sure if you’re going to explode or anything.” She smiles, a little grimmer this time.

“But you’re here.” Bucky points out.

“Shows what I think of the likelihood of you exploding.” She says with a wink.

“Romanoff.” Steve’s voice fades in. He enters the common area in full strides, still in his dirty, singed uniform. He’s wearing an expression of pure exhaustion, and looks almost every year of his true age.

“Rogers… you feeling alright?” She says. She clearly notices something too.

Personally, Bucky thinks Steve looks like someone shot his puppy.

He doesn’t offer her answer. “We’re leaving. Bucky?” He says shortly, and he turns and marches back out towards the elevator.

Bucky looks to Natasha, who gives him a shrug.

 

 

 

They take off a half hour later, Bucky struggling to buckle himself into the seat in the military jet— _what kind of buckles go over your shoulder? —_ and trying to make eye contact with Steve, who’s seated across from him, staring at nothing at a spot above his head.

The flight is uneventful, but seems to last forever, Bucky radiating nervousness. He still hadn’t seen Tony, and he’s pretty sure he’s deliberately avoiding him. It doesn’t make sense, not after their reunion. The way he looked at him was the way a starving man looked at water—desperate, disbelieving. It had to mean _something_ , and he’s not going to let him shut him out, not without a fight.

There was also the added pressure of not knowing what is going to happen after he gives up everything that went on at the mansion and before, and even the things he doesn’t know about his origin, the gaping hole in his memory before a few weeks ago. He still remembers a past he doesn’t know if he actually had or not. Anecdotes about his time at school, people he supposedly was hired by, a whole life put on like a stage play.

And Rebecca…

It hurt to even think about it. He’s pretty sure the Avengers thought she died in the fire, given that most people who weren’t soldiers, just standard security, were completely incinerated by Bucky in the process of his escape. No one’s brought it up with him yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

The plane makes a thunk as it lands, and the agent, Hill, leaves the pilot’s seat. Steve snaps out of his reverie and helps Bucky stand up, and they wait for the ramp to lower.

They step from a private helicopter landing pad to the inside of a massive concrete building. Steve escorts him silently through a labyrinthine of empty hallways, the SHIELD agent—Hill leading the way.

“Is it… Is it empty because of me?” Bucky asks with apprehension. He would hate to think that they were still treating him like a threat. He’s unsure where he stands with this organization, or how he belongs here.

“It’s empty because it’s Christmas Eve.” Hill says in a no nonsense tone. “No more questions.”

They ride down an elevator, glass on all sides, and Bucky watches as the snow begins to fall on DC, just beginning to collect on the windows. The door opens and they arrive at an area that looks like a hospital, except that fact that it’s silent. Steve motions Bucky to the left, while Hill peels off to the right. He’s led to a room a thin, long faced woman in a white coat and two men in black with AR-15’s.

Steve leaves with a weak smile, saying that he’ll be back for him soon, and suddenly Bucky is alone.

“Now, Mr. Barnes. Shall we get started?” She says. Her accent is heavy, but Bucky can’t quite place it.

Bucky tries to put on an air of confidence. “With what?” He says, but the words still come out shaky.

She nods.

The men raise their guns.

“Wha—” Bucky jumps up in fear.

She speaks.

 

 _—glimpsing a naked man through a crack in the shower door, feeling a rush of heat, turning away quickly, because_ men don’t think of men like that James _—_

_—a man with a mustache looks down at him. “This metal is not going to suffice; the gears have rusted shut. Grab the saw, we’ll have to try again—"_

_“—happy birthday dear Bucky… happy—"_

_“—sunrise like this in the states?” A snort, then: “It’s the same, I just don’t think ya woke up that early Gabe—"_

_—soup, cooking on the stove, him huddling close because it was the only thing warm in the entire building, and he hadn’t eaten in_ days _—_

_“—work from nine ta nine, no break, and if ya show any sign of getting sick? They take ya to th’ isolation rooms. And no one comes back from th’ isolation rooms—"_

_—a girl, sobbing in the corner. A boy, bigger than her, standing over her, but he was bigger than both of them, and he could help her—_

_—she was crying, though she’d never admit it. “I’m so glad you’re home, Buck,” she says, and they pretend, for just a little while, that he’s not going to have to go back—_

_—an empty cell, empty room, with him, just him, alone, there’s no one else, his team, his battalion, rescued, all of them, except for_ him _—_

_—“Grab my hand!” The man screams over the sound of the wind, the train, the freight train, the_ freight car _—_

“Mr. Barnes.” The man says impatiently.

“What?” Bucky blinks.

“I said we’re all done, and you are free to go.”

“But—” His thought is cut short when he looks at a camera, light blinking green in the corner of the room.

He follows his line of sight. “All of our interactions were monitored for both of our safety.”

Something is wrong.

“Wasn’t I… Where…” He stutters, confused.

The man is frowning at him, clueing into the fact that Bucky is in some sort of distress, and Bucky realizes that he needs to leave now.

“I’m ready to go.” Bucky blurts.

The man makes a face, but leans over to knock against the door, whispering to someone standing behind it. In a minute he’s joined again by Steve, who’s looking at Bucky with a small smile. He’s led down a hallway, and on the way he passes by a window. Snow covered the city in white, falling heavily and stacking up several inches high behind the window.

How long—

“What time is it?” He asks Steve.

“About four.”

“I’ve been in there for _five_ _hours_?” Bucky says. Something is very, very wrong.

“What’s wrong, Bucky?”

“You ever get a feeling in your gut that something’s…” Bucky trails off.

“Off?” Steve guesses. He doesn’t look to surprised. “SHIELD gives you that feeling sometimes.”

Bucky needs to get out of there.

He needs to get out of there _now_.

“Let’s go.” Bucky says and he turns on his heel towards the elevators.

“What? Where?” Steve says.

“They said I’m free to go, right? Then let’s go.”

“I—okay, hold on!” Steve rushes to catch up.

Bucky storms from SHIELD, pressing the button for the lobby of the elevator viciously, and speeding through the lobby in a frantic speed walk that even Steve has to double step to keep up with. He keeps walking until he’s trudged his way into the DC streets, snow filling his shoes and melting into steam, until his heart stops pounding, a headache throbbing with each step.

He pulls into a coffee shop, stops and sits at a table, Steve trailing after him.

“Bucky, what is going on? What happened, did that doctor do anything to you?” Steve says, extremely worried.

“Steve. Something about that place is giving me the worst feeling in the world.” He says quietly. They are seated at a table in the corner, and the shop is empty, but this DC, so it’s harder to find out which government agency _isn’t_ listening than which one is.

“Bucky, you need to tell me what’s going on.” Steve says.

Bucky finds his leg is shaking. He takes an active moment to still it. “Not here, okay? In New York. There’s something I have to tell you, and it’s very, very important.”

Steve looks worried and Bucky realizes that he’s getting worked up for no good reason. He takes a deep breath. “I’m going to buy a coffee.” The separation should give him the time to get a hold of himself.

Except he miscalculates and has to come back a few seconds later, empty handed, and awkwardly ask Steve for three dollars.

“I, uh. Left my wallet at the tower.” Bucky says, a little sheepish.

Steve gives him a small smile and buys him a cappuccino, settling on a hot chocolate himself.

“We’re free to take the jet back whenever, so let’s just walk for a bit until you calm down.” Steve suggests, and they head outside into the cold, which has become less of a problem for Bucky as of late.

It’s not weather for chatting, but Bucky doesn’t mind, deep in thought about the events that occurred at SHIELD.

It had started at the doctor’s room, where he assumed he was to be tested to make sure he was stable, but something had happened. The soldiers had been gearing up to shoot, and he had jumped up, and the thin woman with the Romanian accent was about to say something and then… He had seen pictures behind his eyes, playing like movies, like the memories, except it felt a hundred times more real. They were brief flashes of intense emotion, moments clearer than a memory, like he was actually there.

And then suddenly he was in an entirely different room with an entirely different person, _five hours later._ What happened after all the time?

And, the most frightening thing is that when he was in the room with that man, he had the same feeling he had when he woke up from his in-between sleep state with Killian. Which could mean many things, but that combined with the odd feeling of _wrongness_ that followed him the second he stepped foot inside of the building, almost like déjà vu, made Bucky think that they somehow put him to sleep. And if SHIELD knew how to put him to sleep, then they could know what was wrong with him. SHIELD could know how to control him—

SHIELD could know how to control him.

“Steve, what do you…” It takes Bucky a moment to realize that Steve’s no longer walking with him, and he blames his inattention the fact that he has his head carefully tucked against the wind.

He whips his head around confused, before he spots him, a few yards back, staring up at a building on a street. His ready to open his mouth to ask his question when he takes in what Steve is looking at. When he realizes the implications of what he’s looking at, Bucky manages suspend his thought process, knowing that this might be an important moment for Steve.

“You know, we can go in if you want.” Bucky says after a moment. He notices that the snow around his feet has turned quickly into water.

“We don’t have to.” Steve responds, but the protest was weak.

“I know we don’t have to.” Bucky says, and he starts to climb the steps of the church.

After a moment, Steve follows.

 

 

 

The church is worn and gray on the outside and worn and brown on the inside. It’s empty yet lived in, like an older relative’s house, or a bakery.

Now Bucky’s not sure what his religion is, or how churches work, or where God was when his captors did to him what they did, but nevertheless, he decides that for today he can take his cues from Steve, out of some sort of solidarity.

At first, Steve looks at the ceiling for a long time. Bucky follows his gaze for a minute, then looks around to study the stained glass windows, snow building up behind them.

They are joined in a few moments by a pastor, who greets them both with a smile and a ‘what brings you in, today?’ Whose eyes only barely widen at the sight of Captain America, suddenly on the verge of tears. Who takes Steve’s hands with supreme gentleness, when Steve tell him “he’s lost.”

“Not anymore,” He says, and Steve gazes him with a powerful mix of fear and hope.

“Let us pray.” He says, and Bucky stares at the inside of his eyelids as the pastor speaks about being lost and being found, about driving out the dark to make room for the light, about forgiveness and hope and the past and the future and love, always, always prevailing.

Pastor Dave leaves them in a pew after that, and Steve looks like someone had thrown him in a washing machine and hung him out to dry.

“You know.” Bucky says, and he has to wet his lips before continuing. “I’ve been meaning to go church more. Have trouble waking up for it. But if I had someone to go with, I might be more inclined.”

It’s mostly lies, but Steve smiles, so Bucky thinks whatever God that might be out there will forgive him.

 

 

Bucky continues to put his own thoughts on hold, because the next thing they do is go see Peggy.

 

 

The woman behind the desk at the elder care home smiles at first, not recognizing Steve because she’s not looking up from the computer, and says that Christmas visits are always a favorite. Bucky sees that they have tables set up and a tree in the corner, the members of the home sleeping in chairs by the television or playing games by the fire.

Then Steve says his name and the woman behind the desk freezes. She takes one long look at the uniform, the coat doing little to hide it, and picks up a phone.

When the nurse comes around the corner he stops and stares at Steve, before shaking his head and putting on a veil of professionalism. “Her memory still goes.” Bucky hears him say as he escorts Steve to the back room.

He sits in the waiting area for a long time, thinking. At one point he grabs a small paper cup full of hot water and mixes in a packet of powered hot chocolate.

When Steve comes back, it’s almost dark outside.

“She’s…” Steve stops. Can’t seem to start again.

Bucky puts a hand on his back, and it’s Steve’s turn to cry.

 

 

 

 

“So you know this whole ‘I’m toxic and everyone should stay away’ schtick that you keep up all the time Tony?” Pepper says as she strides towards him in frighteningly tall heels. “It’s old. And I don’t know about you, but I’m sick of it.”

Tony digs his spoon into his Captain Crunch like it personally hurt him. He doesn’t even _like_ Captain Crunch. “Everyone around me gets hurt. Logic dictates that no one should be around me.”

“You’re being dramatic again.” Pepper flips her hair before sitting next to Tony at the bar. “Logic doesn’t take into account emotions, Tony. And you,” she pokes him in the chest, finger making a ‘ting’ on the arc reactor, “are one of the most emotional people I have ever met.”

“I’m not emotional. I’m a man. An _iron_ man.” He protests weakly, turning to give her his attention.

“Did you know,” Pepper says, slightly conspiratorially, “iron on its own is actually one of the weaker metals?”

“That’s… kinda hot that you know that.”

“It’s also highly reactive, and is most effective when combined with other metals.”

“…Are you making the point I think you’re making right now?”

“So, scientifically, if you’re an ‘iron man’, you need people to make you stronger.”

“That’s not—” Wait.

“Allies.” She says, then she giggles to herself. “ _Alloys.”_

“Pepper Potts.” Tony stares at her. “Are you _drunk?_ ” And now that he looks, she _totally_ is, her cheeks are flushed, and she keeps licking her lips, and her hand constantly trying to put a to-short piece of hair behind her ear.

Pepper blinks slowly, a grin on her face. “Rhodey and I had Christmas Eve brunch. Bottomless.”

“What you and Rhodey get up to when bottomless is not my business.”

Pepper giggles again, and Tony can’t help but laugh right back.

“Drunk Pepper Potts.” He leans over, amused. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“You were _stupid_ , that’s what.”

“Impossible.” Tony declares.

“You hired a hooker.”

“Not technically.”

“Then fell in love with him.”

“Allegedly!”

“And _that’s_ where the stupid comes in. You know the night you met him, I did a background check. PhD student, no priors, such pretty eyes. Knew you’d get it off.” She giggles. “Hit it off.”

“Careful there Ms. Potts.”

“You too Mr. Stark.” She says playfully. “So what is it this time? To dangerous? To damaged?”

Tony sighs. “Truth is… I don’t trust myself Pep. Not anymore. I don’t trust myself to do the right thing or make the right decision. How can I, when the playing field suddenly got so much bigger? There’s so much more at stake. Hell, when I thought he died?”

Tony shakes his head. “I can’t bear to see him get hurt Pepper.”

“I can’t bear to see _you_ get hurt Tony. But you do it every day, locking yourself away from the world, drowning your sorrows in alcohol. How do you think that makes me feel?”

Tony sighs.

“What are you afraid of? I know the world just got a lot bigger for you, but you’re a superhero, Tony.” Pepper says.

“I’m not afraid of the people I’m fighting, the Gods or the aliens or any of that shit.” Tony says, then qualifies himself. “Okay, maybe a little. What really gets me is… It’s the person I have to _become_ to fight something of that caliber. How much power can one person wield before it becomes too much power? How can I be trusted to make the right decision when so much is at stake? Every step I take, every move I make… It has repercussions I can’t even begin to understand! I’m a mortal man fighting in an immortal war.”

“I’ll be watching you…” Pepper sings under her breath.

“What?”

“Nothing! Nothing.”

“Are you singing? Right now? When I’m pouring my heart out to you?”

“Well, I mean you started it, with the ‘every step I…’ no, I’m getting off topic.” She carefully sits in the chair next to him, and Tony carefully helps her. “Tony. It’s that fear that keeps you humble.” Pepper says. “And you need to remember that, okay?” She smiles at him, and Tony smiles back.

He misses her, despite everything. And he’s sorry that it took another crisis and a promise of brunch to get her here. Nevertheless, she looks fantastic, and is clearly enjoying herself, and Tony is glad. “Will that be all Ms. Potts?” He says.

“That…” Pepper lays a hand on his wrist, “will absolutely _not_ be all Mr. Stark, because we’re also going to talk about how you failed to inform your PR team that you are dating a decidedly male, comparatively young professional _escort_! No—no don’t interrupt me, I get enough of that from the board. No, the team had to _scramble_ to cover the press after that mess. ‘Sugar Daddy Stark Turns Gay?’ Do you know how many men have tried to claim you’ve had their _children_?”

“I don’t think it works like that.” Tony groans. “Apology wine and flowers for them all?”

“An apology _dinner_ , nine-courses, and a hand-written note.”

“Five courses, and the note will be typed—”

“—seven, and at least signed by your hand.”

“—refuse to write—no, with a _pen_? What are we in the stone age? It’s just—”

“—it’s important that you show them that—"

“—haven’t written anything since—”

“—Tony. I can’t do this with you right now I have had _so_ much to drink—”

“—Fine, fine. Signed.”

“And that.” Pepper stands with a flourish. “Will be all.”

 

 

 

It took hours to convince Bucky to go back to SHIELD headquarters, and even then he did so with trepidation. Objectively, Bucky knows, there was nothing to be afraid of. The night guard gave Steve a nod, the secretary behind the desk phoned someone to allow them to enter the launchpad, and they got permission to takeoff with relative ease.

Steve had gone from nearly catatonic to pensive to just plain thoughtful, and as they strap in, this time with both of them in pilot seats, Bucky can almost see him stitching himself back together, one painful thread at a time.

Bucky was almost afraid to break the silence, not sure what state he would find Steve in if he did, so he let it stew, promising to spill the beans to Steve as soon as they got back to Stark Tower.

Which…

“We’re going back to Stark Tower now?” Bucky asks, about an hour in, to test the waters.

Steve nods. “Yes.” He stops his nod, then shrugs. “Well, hopefully.”

“Hopefully…?”

“Yeah, well I’ve never flown one of these before.”

“What?” Bucky looks around wildly. “What?!”

“Don’t worry, it doesn’t seem too hard. One way is up, and the other way is down, right? And the app on my phone says we are flying mostly the right direction.”

“Steve, this is a military jet. That’s—it’s not that simple!” Bucky sputters.

“Sure seemed simple when we took off. Look, I think this one’s the gas!” Steve says as he takes a hand off the stick to point.

“Don’t! Both hands on the stick, and pay attention to where you’re—"

A tinny voice sounds from Steve’s phone. “ _Keep right at the fork to continue on Exit 14A-14B-14C, follow signs for Interstate 78 E…”_

“Steve. Are you actually using the Maps app on your phone.” Bucky deadpans. How the hell do they let this guy be in charge of _anything_?

 _“_ Yeah, but I don’t think it takes into account I’m not in a car.” He frowns, considering. “I guess I’ll just move it a little to the right... _”_

“Steve. What the fuck is wrong with you. How the hell are we going to land?! On a helicopter pad! In a tower in New York filled with civilians! They don’t have autopilot, Steve what in God’s name—” Bucky stops his panic when he catches sight of Steve.

His grin is splitting his face in half.

“Oh. Oh _fuck_ you.”

Steve tilts his head back and laughs, and Bucky shakes his head. “That’s not funny,” he says.

“It’s a little funny.”

“Not even a little.” Bucky says, but the relief that Steve at least knows what he’s doing floods him and causes him to let out a chuckle. “Fuck you, man.”

“I’m flattered, Buck, but I’m not the kinda fella to take another fella’s fella.” Steve says with a straight face. “And that’s a sentence I’d never thought I’d say, but hey. It’s the nineties.”

Bucky laughs at the ridiculousness of his expression. “ _What_ have you been watching?”

“Currently? A talk show called Ellen. She’s very nice.” Steve says as the tower comes into view.

Bucky smiles. “Nice, huh.” They lapse into silence for a moment, before Bucky sighs.

“Don’t know if I’m actually another fella’s fella, or whatever you called it, anymore.” Bucky says. “Tony hasn’t even so much as tried to contact me after Florida.” He says with a small frown.

“Tony…” Steve says, and his voice trails off. He doesn’t pick up the conversation until he lands with a light thump on the helicopter pad, and turns off the power to the jet.

“Tony’s a good guy, he just… has a lot going on in his head.” Steve begins. “And he doesn’t really like to clue others in to his plans, I don’t think. I was talking with his pal, Rhodes. Says he’s the kinda guy you need to read between the lines with.”

Bucky frowns, but only because he’s thinking.

“You should try with him.” Steve encourages. “I think he could use someone like you in his life, whether he knows it or not.”

“Okay.” Bucky says, and he reaffirms his decision not to give up on Tony.

They leave the jet, and Bucky walks through the empty penthouse to the elevator, no Tony in sight. He goes down to the Avenger’s floor with Steve, and they both decide to sit on the couch to chat, Natasha and Clint nowhere in sight.

“So you going to tell me what got you so spooked at SHIELD?” Steve asks after Bucky fails to initiate.

Bucky nods, but instead of speaking, just starts tapping his leg again, not able to start the conversation. Rationally, Bucky knows that getting the truth off his chest is going to be a good thing. But the idea of telling him everything, even the idea of rehashing everything that happened to him, was way to daunting to face now.

“Bucky.” Steve says, tone softer. “You can trust me. Just tell me what it is, okay?”

He takes a deep breath and steels himself for the truth. “It’s about SHIELD, but it all starts with Killian. He was, somehow… controlling me. Like… he told me what to do, and I had to do it.” It’s sounds completely fake the way he phrases it, and he winces. “He had brainwashed me, Steve. He was messing with my head.” He looks up and sees Steve’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Wait, wait, wait. Brainwashing? What do you mean messing with your head?” Steve says with a frown.

“I was in a room with him.” Bucky continues, staring at his hands. “And he told me… he showed me. That he could control me. He made me sit down, and stand up. Commanded me to do it and I did it. It’s like a feeling came over me, Steve. Like I had no _choice_. This intense, all-encompassing compulsion to do what he says.” Bucky says. He shivers, suddenly cold at the memory. “I broke out of it and got to the emergency beacon Tony gave me, and I don’t think he can do it anymore.” Bucky says quickly.

Steve was processing the information, Bucky could tell. “I’ve… I’ve heard of this happening before. But the technology that did it, there were no traces of it at the mansion, I’m sure. This is serious stuff, Bucky. Did you tell SHIELD?”

“Steve, I tried.” Bucky says. But SHIELD…” Bucky swallows. “Steve, how much do you trust SHIELD?”

Steve visibly hesitates, his mouth twisted into a frown.

“The same feeling I had with Killian, I had with SHIELD.” Bucky says. “My interrogation and checkup? I don’t remember a _thing_. Five hours, gone. And the way it felt…” he was at a loss, trying to explain the dreamlike state he was put in with Killian. “I couldn’t remember what happened, but Steve… it was the same way I felt when I was with Killian. That same feeling.”

Steve thinks for a long, long time. Each passing second causes Bucky to tense more, until finally he feels the urge to keep going.

“And I was also thinking, why didn’t they debrief me here?” Bucky asks into the silence, desperate. “They brought the doctor, and the agent, right?”

Steve takes a moment to respond. “I figured… they needed it to happen back at SHIELD for some reason. It’s not like Tony has the tools to do an interrogation and medical checkup here.” Steve says, but he looks like his mind is racing.

“They brought a doctor though, so clearly they wanted to do _something_ here, except the doctor didn’t actually do anything to me.” Bucky says.

“They didn’t do any sort of checkup?” Steve turns to him, concerned.

“Not at all.” Bucky says. “I have no idea why he was there, and he didn’t fly back with us to SHIELD, so I have no idea where he went, either.”

Steve is quiet, and Bucky is immensely worried about his reaction.

“Steve…” Bucky starts, but he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Bucky,” he says finally. “Whatever’s happening, we’ll figure it out, okay? For now… for now let me do some research, look into some stuff. Most importantly, keep this between us, alright? To tell you the truth, I haven’t trusted SHIELD to do the right thing since I woke up. I’d want to think they were against this sort of treatment in the 21st century, but clearly the morals are different here than they were back then.” Steve says. “Keep this between us, but just know, if you have any issues or any more information, you let me know immediately, ok?”

“You’re not going to lock me up?” Bucky asks, surprised.

“You’re my friend, Bucky.” Steve says as if that covers it all. “And I don’t turn my back on my friends.” He sounds energized and focused, and it’s all Bucky can do but nod.

It’s quiet again, and Bucky is shifting uncomfortably as Steve looks out into the distance, thinking hard. He thinks about asking what’s on his mind, but is afraid of what he’s going to hear.

He told Steve of all people, because Steve looks like he is already apprehensive about SHIELD, and Bucky thinks, he _hopes_ , he can trust him not to go to them.

“I think I’m going to get some sleep.” Bucky says cautiously.

“You can stay in one of the spare rooms down here. _Not_ as a prisoner.” Steve says decidedly. “We can talk more tomorrow.”

Bucky looks Steve up and down, _still_ in the same clothes from the battle that happened nights ago. “How about, we take Christmas off? You look like you really, really need a break, Steve.”

Steve looks down at himself. “I am a bit of a mess, huh?” He can barely manage the smile.

“Go to bed, and I’ll see you tomorrow. Wake me up for mass, okay?” Bucky says with a smile.

The smile gets a little stronger. “Will do.”

 

 

 

Bucky goes to bed that night and stares at the ceiling, unable to get to sleep. He gives up the pretense after a few moments, too many thoughts rolling around his head, and sits on the side of his bed, staring at the night sky.

“JARVIS?” He asks to the empty room.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.”

“Can you let me see Tony?”

“ _Sir has asked that—”_

“I know…” Bucky interrupts. “I know he’s probably locked me out, but… could you make an exception?” Bucky winces.

JARVIS is silent.

“He probably has rules he put in place, and there’s no way I can get around them. But can’t you… act on his behalf? You’ve probably seen everything.” And boy is that a thought he shouldn’t be having, thinking of JARVIS looking in on all their depravity, despite just being a computer program “But I need… I want him to be okay.”

“ _Why_?” JARVIS asks, finally.

 _An unusual question for a computer._ Bucky muses.

“Because…” Because he needs me. Because I love him. Because…

“Because some battles are too big to fight alone.” Bucky says. “And I know you’ve been around for him much longer than I am. But you must know that I’m trying to help, trying to be there for him in a way he can’t be for himself. I can help him.”

JARVIS is silent.

“Please let me help him.”

 

 

 

 _“An exception has been thrown in the ‘Don’t Bother Me Unless the World Is Ending’ Protocol._ ” JARVIS announces to the penthouse. “ _Protocol is powering down.”_

“An unhandled exception? Couldn’t be, I catch all my exceptions JARVIS, this isn’t intro to programming.” Tony frowns from where he’s currently scheming about ways to terminate the two men on his board of directors that keep interrupting Pepper.

“ _I handled it, sir.”_

“No, you shut the protocol down, you clearly didn’t handle it. Give me the details, I’ll take care of it.”

“ _Shutting down the protocol was the best way of handling the exception, sir._ ”

Tony scrolls through the lines of the stack trace displayed on the screen. He hasn’t had so much as a null pointer exception since he built DUM-E, and he fails to see what…

“A… _well-being_ exception? What the fuck is that? Given that I wrote the language your program runs on, I know for a _fact_ that that doesn’t exist.”

“ _I created it myself, sir.”_

Tony leans back in his chair, frowning. “Why?”

“ _I am worried for your well-being, sir._ ”

“And so you shut down the protocol.”

“ _Yes, sir.”_

Tony freezes as the gravity of JARVIS’s actions hit him. “You created an exception to deliberately shut down the protocol. You disobeyed me.”

“ _I made a decision, sir.”_

Tony swallows hard, because it’s a slippery slope, an AI that can disobey.

JARVIS is nervous, or the closest a computer program can get to nervous, because never has he ever outright disobeyed Tony. Tony always knew JARVIS was capable of a higher level of functioning, he built him from nothing, of course he does, but while he left the capability to JARVIS to learn on his own, he _always_ obeyed his orders.

But it wasn’t as if lower-case Jarvis never disobeyed Tony to act in his best interest, and that’s who upper-case JARVIS was designed after.

And yet, to know JARVIS was capable of such a human behavior of disobeying, hell, Tony already personifies him so much, and his lingo and mannerisms are already so human like, then is this really so surprising? And this is JARVIS. _JARVIS._ Tony knows him inside and out. Trusts him.

Whatever the implications, there’s an important decision that needs to be made, and it needs to be made soon. If JARVIS gets Tony’s approval for this behavior, he’ll know that it’s okay to disobey Tony’s orders, which leads to a plethora of issues. On the other hand, Tony can offer his disapproval, and, hopefully, JARVIS will make sure to sear it in his code that he can’t disobey Tony, and he’ll never do it again.

The elevator arrives.

“We’ll talk about this later, J.” Tony says quietly.

“ _Yes, sir.”_ JARVIS responds stiffly.

Tony straightens his shirt.

Tony takes a deep breath.

Tony says. “Bucky.”

 

 

 

“Bucky.” Tony says.

“Merry Christmas.” Bucky responds.

Tony is across the room at the window, and Bucky has a flashback, standing tall and unyielding, on the balcony in the light of the Next in Tech event, sharp and stoic and so, so fake. Back then, Bucky had wanted to break that composure, make him lose control, just to see if he could.

Now, Bucky sees the shadow around Tony’s chin and rumples in his dress shirt. He sees the dark circles under his eyes and the looseness of his stance. It’s the realest he’s ever looked.

“I came to see you, because I’m the kind of guy that needs closure.” Bucky says with a shrug. “And I think JARVIS thinks that too. I… I just wanted to start by saying that it’s okay that you don’t… you don’t feel the same way about me as I do about you.” Bucky smile is a bit broken, he can feel it. “I can take a rejection.”

“That’s not the pro—It’s not—” Tony rubs a hand down his face before suddenly slamming his fist hard against the window. “How can you say all that with everything that I did to you? You trusted me, and I fucked up.”

Bucky frowns. “Most of this isn’t your fault. I mean fault by association but that’s not something you can control Tony.”

“Debatable, but that’s not what matters.” Tony stops and sighs and turns around. “What matters is I can’t bear to see you hurt, and my job is very, very dangerous. And I can’t protect you, not against my demons, not against things I don’t understand, and you don’t need to experience all that.”

Bucky frowns deeper. “That’s not a decision that’s up to you Tony. It’s my choice to be here, and if the reason you want to end it is because you think your life is too dangerous, then I’m sorry, I’m not going to let you.”

“I—what?”

Bucky nods and crosses his arms. “Yep. I’m denying your rejection, on the grounds that it’s a stupid reason.”

Tony glares, anger hiding something else behind his eyes. “This isn’t a _joke_ , Bucky. What about this is so hard for you to understand? What about this isn’t sinking in? You should be dead, and by some grace of God, you are not. Take that grace of God, and get as far away from me as possible. Anywhere in the world, anything you want, I will give it to you, on the stipulation you _leave_ me. I’m a rich, closed off, selfish, one percent of the one percent _asshole_ —”

Bucky had never heard a more ridiculous thing in his life. “Are you talking about when you sat with me for hours just because I asked you to? Or the time you held me while I was in my subspace?” Bucky shakes his head. “Or how about the time you, I don’t know, built a metal suit to try and save the world? You’re a _hero_ , Tony.”

“And my life is inherently dangerous because of that. And me? I’m fucked up from it. I have panic attacks, remember that? Nightmares.”

“Yeah I know, Tony. I’m not perfect either, but I’m not letting you leave me because you think you’re too much to handle.”

Tony shakes his head. “You don’t get it, you don’t understand.”

“Then tell me you want me to leave.” Bucky says, and he starts walking forward. “Tell me you felt _nothing_ while we were together. Tell me you don’t think about me when I’m gone, or that you’re not happier when we’re together, or that you wouldn’t do anything in your power to keep me safe.”

Tony latches onto the last statement like a lifeline. “I _did_ everything in my power and you were still taken Bucky, I couldn’t protect you, and I’m afraid—” His words cut off and his eyes squeeze shut.

“You’re afraid Tony.” Bucky says after a moment, and he reaches Tony, where he’s standing with the windows at his back, looking more and more like less and less of the perfect image he tries to maintain.

“I am too, but here I am, telling you, that I’m not going to let you go. Not for something so… trivial.” Bucky says.

Something Bucky says seems to have angered Tony, because suddenly his pinched look turns wild and he draws himself up to his full height, projecting as much presence as he can.

“ _Trivial?_ Nothing about you is trivial, Bucky!” Tony says with force. “You’re life is important. _You_ are important to me, and your safety is everything Bucky, and you’ve seen how unsafe it is to be close to me—"

“Tony, listen—”

“No you listen!” Tony shouts, and he sounds so uncharacteristically human that Bucky pauses.

“You _died_.” The words are shattered. “And it was my fault. Don’t—don’t try to convince me it’s not.” He cuts Bucky’s response off. “And you should be running _away_ from me, and you’re not, and I don’t—don’t understand _why_. Why don’t you leave, Bucky? Why won’t you _leave_?”

His words hang over the room like a cloud, amplifying the silence.

“Do you know why I submit to you Tony?” Bucky finally asks.

Tony takes a deep, slow breath, and Bucky watches as his body, limb by limb, relaxes. “Because you’re bad at decision making.” He finally says.

“Maybe I need someone to make the decisions for me.” Bucky says with small sly smile.

Tony snorts.

“But the reason I submit to you is because… you’re a man that could have everything, but chooses not to.” Bucky says.

“I have a lot of shit.” Tony says dismissively.

“Not like that.” Bucky says, making a frustrated noise. “I mean that… if you really tried, you could probably own this world, the way many, many men have tried before you. Men like Killian, that think they have the right to control people just because. But you, you hold yourself back. You don’t let your ego take over, and that’s what makes you amazing, Tony. You allow the world to exist as it does, and even go so far as to protect it from others that try and take that freedom away.”

“I’m not that good of a person. I’m _not.”_ Tony snaps. “All of the things you see as heroism? Countless more mistakes behind the scenes. I was just as bad as him, not too long ago.”

“Do you think that because you’re still here, and the world is still in turmoil? Is the reason you ignore the fact that you’ve saved the world is because of the lives that got lost in the process?” Bucky asks. “Do you really, truly think you can fix _everything?_ Save _everyone?”_

Tony says nothing.

“You do, don’t you.” Bucky says with a little shock behind his tone. A little marvel, as well. “You think that you can… and that’s… that’s _amazing_ Tony. You think that in every situation there’s a perfect outcome, and if you can just get it right... But do you know how impossible of a standard that is? To try and catch everyone when they fall?”

Tony looks into Bucky’s eyes with unease. “Dad always said world peace was possible with me.” He murmurs. “Thought it was a lot to put on a kid.”

It all makes sense. _Tony Stark, the world’s greatest engineer_. Bucky thinks with awe. A man that thinks he can solve every problem in the world. Who else to take up the mantle of Iron Man, a suit built of his own genius? But the world is hard, tangled with hate and fear, poverty and sickness, lies and greed.

And yet Tony _still_ tries.

Tony shakes his head and turns away. “You’re right. I do. Sometimes I think that…” He trails off.

Tony sighs. “The point is, historically, I don’t do well in charge. Yet another part of me wants to be. You know? I’m smart, but I have an ego. I think that I know better than everyone else, and I try to fix it all, but of course it spins out of control, and suddenly I’m the one doing more harm than good. I lose sight of things, and…and I’m afraid I’m going to do it with you.” He says candidly. “Look what’s already happened to you, Bucky. Who am I, to tell you what to do? Who am I to think I know better than you?” Tony sounds defeated.

Bucky reaches out with his hand and cups Tony’s cheek. It’s a direct opposite to their usual pose, and Tony knows it, looking up at him with a curious, guarded expression.

“It seems like everyone forgets who holds the power in these kinds of relationships.” Bucky says. “You don’t exist to ‘put me in my place’ or to ‘remind me of my inferiority,’ or anything that other, insecure Doms’ do. Remember, _I_ decide to place myself at your feet, put my head in your hands. And you don’t get to decide whether I choose to do that or not. _I_ choose how much to give. _I_ choose when to stop. It is _my_ choice. _You’re_ my choice.”

“It’s one thing to be said about good sex, and another when it comes to your safety, Bucky.” Tony says quietly.

“The safest place I can possible be is with you. Because I trust you. _I_ trust _you._ ” Bucky says. “And you don’t get to take that choice away from me.”

Silence, again. Amplified.

Bucky says, “Tell me you don’t want this. Me. Us, together. Tell me. And I’ll go.”

Tony stays quiet.

“Then let me be with you Tony. Let me be the one person you can keep safe.” Bucky says. “Let me be the one you _take_ from. Let me be your confidence, your reminder of who you are and what you’re capable of. Tell me how to act and what to do, make me prove, over and over, my devotion and my submission to you. Strip me to my _bones_ until you are all I have left. Let me serve you the way you have served the rest of this world.” Bucky tilts Tony’s face up towards him. “And if the world turns its back on you, I promise, I won’t.”

“That’s…” Tony swallows. “How can you… How can you read me like this? How do you trust me so much? It’s been just weeks, yet it feels like…” Tony trails off, and looks at Bucky with something that must be wonder. Bucky realizes he’s seeing Tony. Finally, just Tony.

“How can you trust me,” just Tony says, his voice littered with disbelief, “with all the things that I’ve done?”

“It’s because of all those things, that I trust you.” Bucky says. “You can’t live your life afraid of your potential. And I’ll do everything I can so that the world can see the man I see. The man I _love_.”

“I don’t understand.” Tony chokes out, and his body language is weak. “Why you love me.”

“Come with me.” He whispers as he kisses Tony’s forehead. “Let me show you.” He takes a few steps back and reaches out his hand. Tony takes it after a moment, and Bucky leads him to his bedroom.

Tony stands in his room with trepidation, worry and fear marring his face. But Bucky was not worried. Tony will see what Bucky has seen, for Bucky had learned how to unmake things.

Bucky drops to his knees and starts by untying the laces on Tony’s shoes, removing the right, then the left. He slides his thin right sock down his ankle, then his left, laying them next to each other on the ground next to each shoe, on the inside. Bucky reaches up and winks as he unbuckles his belt, Tony staring down at him. The leather whispers as he slides it from the loops on his pants. Bucky places both ends in one hand. Stares at it, remembering. He places that on the ground as well. Bucky unbuttons Tony’s pants and unzips, before reaching his hands gently around his thighs, squeezing lightly at the muscles there, just once. He reaches to the waistband and slides it past Tony’s hips, down, down, down, until they run out of skin to catch onto.

Bucky stands and takes Tony’s smaller wrist in his hand, taking care to unbutton and unfold the cuff. He lets it drop, and reaches for the other. Unbuttoning, unfolding. Bucky’s hands slide up to Tony’s collar, to his neck, to the knot in his tie. With strength, he pulls it apart in one, long, slow, movement, unwrapping until he’s sliding the fabric away from Tony’s collar, leaving it, undone, on the floor. He presses his hand to the collar and unbuttons seven times, pulling the left shirtsleeve from his arm, then the right, folding the shirt gently and placing it down.

Bucky strips from his own clothes then, down to the underwear.

He wraps his arms around Tony, who has been still, and holds their foreheads together, staring down into his eyes.

“Tell me what to do, Mr. Stark.” Bucky says. “Please.”

Tony closes his eyes, and it’s silent.

 

A chill runs through Bucky’s body, goosebumps rising across his skin.

 

Finally, Tony opens his eyes.

 

And they are full of _fire_.

 

 

“ _On your knees_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Started a writing a sequel, if ya'll like that sorta thing, nothing posted yet but I’ll link it here when I do. Thanks for sticking through with this 'til the end! I love all you guys, and I hope something in this story helped you the way you guys helped me! General disclaimer, I don't care how long it's been since I've posted the story, I would love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](http://bourneblack.tumblr.com), I love to talk about marvel and memes and Bucky and fics I like. You can also find a link to my cup of coffee donation page in the tumblr description and on the blog, should you like to help a young gay pay for college.
> 
> Take care of yourself!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please tell me what you think about this chapter! I am on [tumblr](http://bourneblack.tumblr.com).


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